Crimson dreams
by Meraki1
Summary: Twilight re imagined. What if Bella was a boy- Brandon Swan, and with her twin sister, Alice Swan, was moving to the dreary town of Forks? Brandon Swan, a boy who lived an ordinary life with her sister and best friend Alice is suddenly thrown into the world of legends and myth. what will happen next? Will he find something life changing or will he loose the said life. SLASH,M/M
1. Preface

**Disclaimer: I don't own twilight.**

* * *

 **PREFACE**

I'd never given much thought to how I would die — though I'd had reason enough in the last few months — but even if I had, I would not have imagined it like this.

I stared without breathing across the long room, into the dark eyes of the hunter, and he looked pleasantly back at me.

Surely it was a good way to die, in the place of someone else, someone I loved. Noble, even. That ought to count for something.

FUCK! Why the fuck did I ever decided to move to Forks.

I knew that if I'd never gone to Forks, I wouldn't be facing death now. I wouldn't have to worry about my little sister dating a freaking vampire. I wouldn't have broken my hand in an attempt to punch a werewolf. And I surely wouldn't have met that broody, sparkling and infuriating bronze haired fucker.

Fuck this, fuck this all to hell!

The hunter smiled in a friendly way as he sauntered forward to kill me.

* * *

 **A/N: If you are reading this thank you! And I hope you are going to read the actual chapter. Now this story is going to be based on the basic Twilight story but with much different scenarios, well more accurately- after the initial scenes, which are very similar (around 70%) to the original series. My main story starts after the first official chapter 'First Sight'.**

 **Now, I won't bore you more than necessary, the update pattern depends upon the readers' response(everybody needs an incentive) so please make sure to read the story and actually be a part of the journey! Till next time!**


	2. 1 First Sight-I

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything.**

* * *

 **1\. First Sight- I**

My mother drove me to the airport with the windows rolled down. It was seventy-five degrees in Phoenix, the sky a perfect, cloudless blue. I was wearing my favorite grey hoodie, black vintage t-shirt and a pair of black Levi; although my mother says that I only wear this to avoid choosing between my clothes, which up to some extents is also true.

In the Olympic Peninsula of northwest Washington State, a small town named Forks exists under a near-constant cover of clouds. The rainiest and un-happening and town of the United States of America, as my twin sister Alice describes it. It was from this town and its gloomy, _omnipresent shade_ that my _mother_ escaped with us when we were only a two years old. It was in this town that we'd been pretty much forced to spend a month every summer until we were fourteen. That was the year I finally put my foot down, Alice too in a very clever way used my decision to avoid the green ol' Forks; these past three summers, our dad, Charlie, vacationed with us in California for two weeks instead.

It was to Forks that I have and in effect Alice now exiled into for the next eighteen months— an action that I took with great horror. If it was not clear above, I, and Alice detested Forks.

Alice's disapproval was clear in every single glare she was sending my way, from the back seat, while applying the glittery strawberry scented lip gloss and adjusting every single strand on her head to reach that perfect pixie look.

Although she didn't really need the extra effort to reach her goal with her short body, thin in the extreme, with small features. Her hair was a deep black, cropped short and pointing in every direction, my mother's blue eyes, which were just full of energy, just like a pixie. Of course, I would never admit to this in front of her, not even on a gunpoint.

Despite the fact that we were twins, we also were completely opposite in both looks and personality. We spend more time as Neanderthals, arguing on everything, but it's also true that she's my best friend, hence the reason why we both were going to the hell hole of a town, cause we are a unit, for the better and worse.

We loved Phoenix. We loved the sun and the blistering heat. We loved the vigorous, sprawling city.

"Alice," my mom said to her, while looking at me from the corner of her eyes— the last of a thousand times — before we got on the plane. "You don't have to do this."

My mom looks a lot like me, except with longer hair and laugh lines, and of course the feminine delicate features. Alice was more like dad. I felt a wave of panic as I stared at her wide, childlike eyes, the same as my sister's. I met Alice's eyes and saw the same emotion as mine, 'How could we leave our loving, erratic, harebrained mother to fend for herself?' Of course she had Phil now, so the bills would probably get paid, there would be food in the refrigerator, gas in her car, and someone to call when she got lost, but still…

"I want to go," Alice lied convincingly. Unlike me, who have always been a bad liar, but I too have been saying this lie so frequently lately that it sounded almost convincing now.

"Tell Charlie I said hi." My mother said with resignation.

"We will." This time it was me who pacified her with confident words.

"I'll see you both soon," she insisted. "You can come home whenever you want — I'll come right back as soon as anyone of you need me."

But I could see the sacrifice in her eyes behind the promise.

"Don't worry about us," I urged. "It'll be great. And we can take care of ourselves, and I will make sure Alice stays in control." I delivered with a light humor.

"Shut up Bran! And don't worry Mom, we will be just fine. Love you." Alice said in her usual chirpy way, her voice really gets under my skin sometimes, but not today.

Mom finally smiled and hugged us tightly for a minute, and then we got on the plane, and she was gone.

Alice was dead to the world the moment she sat on the seat, with her ridiculous hot pink, Lady Gaga themed travel-sleep gears. Although I wouldn't trade her for the world, I swear she was switched accidently after birth, I mean how can she be my twin sister with the way she is. _Tragedies._

It's a four-hour flight from Phoenix to Seattle, another hour in a small plane up to Port Angeles, and then an hour drive back down to Forks. Flying doesn't bother me; the hour in the car with Charlie, though, I was a little worried about.

Charlie had really been fairly nice about the whole thing. He seemed genuinely pleased that we were coming to live with him for the first time with any degree of permanence. He'd already gotten us registered for high school and was going to help us get a car.

But it was sure to be awkward with Charlie. Much like me, he was what anyone would call chatty, but we do have Alice to fill the silence. Alice can really talk.

I knew he was more than a little confused by our decision, well majorly my decision — like my mother before me; I hadn't made a secret of my distaste for Forks. Alice while never liked the place, she was pretty good at adjusting nearly in any environment, with her over the top and more than vibrant personality.

When we finally landed in Port Angeles, it was raining. I didn't see it as an omen — just unavoidable. I'd already said my goodbyes to the sun and everything else.

Charlie was waiting for us with the cruiser. This I was expecting, too. Charlie is Police Chief Swan to the good people of Forks. My primary motivation behind buying a car, despite the scarcity of my funds, was that I refused to be driven around town in a car with red and blue lights on top. Nothing slows down traffic like a cop.

Alice might have actually liked the idea of roaming around the city with a siren though.

Alice gave Charlie a big hug, and then promptly skipped towards the car and after Charlie gave me an awkward, one-armed hug, we too joined her but in a more awkward and normal fashion.

"It's good to see you two," he said, smiling. "You haven't changed much. How's Renée?"

"Mom's fine. It's good to see you, too, Dad." I wasn't allowed to call him Charlie to his face.

"You too haven't changed much dad." Alice said with a sweet smile, she was a sweet talker with an evil mind. God bless the Swan men.

I had only a few bags. Most of my Arizona clothes were too permeable for Washington. My mom, sister and I had pooled their resources to supplement my winter wardrobe, but it was still scanty. It all fit easily into the trunk of the cruiser. Alice's bags were spilling to the back seat, with her sitting snuggly in the middle, surrounded by the chaos.

"I found a good car, really cheap," he announced when we were strapped in.

"What kind of car?" I was suspicious of the way he said "good car" as opposed to just "car."

"Well, it's a truck actually, a Chevy."

I saw the rear view to Alice, as she smiled one of her conspicuous smiles. I am not letting car keys away from my eyes.

"Where did you find it?" She asked enthusiastically.

"Do you remember Billy Black down at La Push?" La Push is the tiny Indian reservation on the coast.

"No." We both said at the same time.

"He used to go fishing with us during the summer," Charlie prompted.

"Oh." Alice said with a little frown, I could understand, we remember our last visit far too well.

"He's in a wheelchair now," Charlie continued when I didn't respond, "so he can't drive anymore, and he offered to sell me his truck cheap."

Alice looked satisfied and plugged her earphones into her cell and with shaking head, lost herself to whatever song was playing, probably Lady Gaga, but I wanted a little more information.

"What year is it?" I could see from his change of expression that this was the question he was hoping I wouldn't ask.

"Well, Billy's done a lot of work on the engine — it's only a few years old, really."

I hoped he didn't think so little of me as to believe I would give up that easily. "When did he buy it?"

"He bought it in 1984, I think."

"Did he buy it new?"

"Well, no. I think it was new in the early sixties — or late fifties at the earliest," he admitted sheepishly.

"Ch — Dad, I don't really know anything about cars. I wouldn't be able to fix it if anything went wrong, and I couldn't afford a mechanic…"

"Really, Bran, the thing runs great. They don't build them like that anymore."

The thing, I thought to myself… it had possibilities — as a nickname, at the very least.

"How cheap is cheap?" After all, that was the part I couldn't compromise on.

"Well, son, I kind of already bought it for you both. As a homecoming gift." Charlie peeked sideways at me with a hopeful expression.

Wow. Free.

"You didn't need to do that, Dad. Alice and I were going to buy ourselves a car."

"I don't mind. I want you both to be happy here." He was looking ahead at the road when he said this. Charlie wasn't comfortable with expressing his emotions out loud. I inherited that from him. So I was looking straight ahead as I responded.

"That's really nice, Dad. Thanks. I really appreciate it." No need to add that my being happy in Forks is an impossibility. He didn't need to suffer along with me. And I never looked a free truck in the mouth — or engine.

"Well, now, you're welcome," he mumbled, embarrassed by my thanks.

We exchanged a few more comments on the weather, which was wet, and that was pretty much it for Conversation. We stared out the windows in silence. At one point I thought of snatching the earphone from Alice, at least she could talk without looking like she would rather jump out of the car, but I after a moment the silence became comfortable.

It was probably beautiful or something. Everything was green: the trees were covered in moss, both the trunks and the branches, the ground blanketed with ferns. Even the air had turned green by the time it filtered down through the leaves.

It was too green — an alien planet.

Eventually we made it to Charlie's. He still lived in the small, three-bedroom house that he'd bought with my mother in the early days of their marriage. Those were the only kind of days their marriage had — the early ones. There, parked on the street in front of the house that never changed, was my new — well, new to me — truck. It was a faded red color, with big, curvy fenders and a bulbous cab.

Alice squealed in her clichéd girly way, jumping Charlie for a tight hug and announcing that she was going to make pudding tonight. She was obviously over the moon. I could see Charlie breathing a sigh of relief but by his tense shoulders I could tell that he was still nervous, nervous about my reaction.

And I loved it. I wasn't really a car guy, so I was kind of surprised by my own reaction. I mean, I didn't know if it would run, but I could see myself in it. Plus, it was one of those solid iron monsters that never gets damaged — the kind you see at the scene of an accident, paint unscratched, surrounded by the pieces of the foreign car it had destroyed.

"Wow, Dad, it's awesome! Thanks!" Serious enthusiasm this time. Not only was the truck strangely cool, but now I wouldn't have to walk two miles in the rain to school in the morning. Or accept a ride in the cruiser, which was obviously worst-case scenario.

"I'm glad you like it," Charlie said gruffly, embarrassed again.

It took two trips to get all our stuff upstairs. I got the west bedroom that faced out over the front yard. The room was familiar; it had belonged to me since I was born. Unlike many other siblings, Alice and I never had to share bedrooms.

The wooden floor, the light blue walls, the peaked ceiling, the faded blue-and-white checked curtains around the window—these were all a part of my childhood. The only changes Charlie had ever made were switching the crib for a bed and adding a desk as I grew. The desk now held a secondhand computer, with the phone line for the modem stapled along the floor to the nearest phone jack.

Hmm… Alice would be coming to my room for the chats I guess. Maybe we could move the computer to a more neutral territory, I really like my privacy and giving Alice any access to this room simply meant invasion on her part, Alice was a little ignorant to the concept of personal space.

The internet connection was one of my mother's requirements, so that we all could stay in touch. The rocking chair from my baby days was still in the corner. There was one small bathroom at the top of the stairs, which I would have to share with Alice, but I'd had to share with her before, so that's not really a big deal.

One of the best things about living with Charlie is he doesn't hover. He left me alone to unpack and get settled, which would have been totally impossible for my mom. Alice was strangely quiet or maybe just tired as she was yet to barge in here and talk my ears out. Although truthfully, it was nice to be alone, not to have to smile and look comfortable; a relief to stare out the window at the sheeting rain and let my thoughts get dark.

Forks High School had just three hundred and fifty-seven—now fifty-nine —students; there were more than seven hundred people in my junior class alone back home. All of the kids here had grown up together—their grandparents had been toddlers together. Alice and I would be the new kids from the big city, something to stare at and whisper about.

Alice probably would enjoy it.

Maybe if I too had been one of the cool kids, I could have made this work for me. Come in all popular, homecoming king–styles. But there was no hiding the fact that I was not that guy—not the football star, not the class president, not the bad boy on the motorcycle. I was the kid who looked like he should be good at basketball, until I started walking. The kid who got shoved into lockers until I'd suddenly shot up eight inches sophomore year. The kid who was too quiet and too pale, who didn't know anything about gaming or cars or baseball statistics or anything else I was supposed to be into.

Unlike the other guys, I didn't have a ton of free time for hobbies. I had a checkbook to balance, a clogged drain to snake, and a week's groceries to shop for.

Or I used to.

So I didn't relate well to people my age, well other than Alice. Maybe the truth was that I didn't relate well to people, period. Even to my own mother, whom with again other than Alice, I was closest to of anyone on the planet, never really understood me. Alice and I were same when it came to this particular trait. She might talk and make friends with the entire world but she never actually lets anyone touch her, meeting her you would see the shine but you could never see past the blinding light.

Sometimes I wondered if we were seeing the same things through our eyes that the rest of the world was seeing through theirs. Like, maybe what we saw as green was what everyone else saw as red. Maybe we smelled vinegar when they smelled coconut. Maybe there was a glitch in our brain.

But the cause didn't matter. All that mattered was the effect. And tomorrow would be just the beginning.

I didn't sleep well that night, even after I finally got my head to shut up. The constant whooshing of the rain and wind across the roof wouldn't fade into the background. I pulled the old quilt over my head, and later added the pillow, too. But I couldn't fall asleep until after midnight, when the rain finally settled into a quiet drizzle.

Thick fog was all I could see out my window in the morning, and I could feel the claustrophobia creeping up on me. You could never see the sky here; it was like that prison cage I'd imagined.

Breakfast with Charlie was quiet. Alice was still continuing with her strange quietness. He wished us good luck at school. We thanked him, although I knew his hope was a waste of time. Good luck tended to avoid me. Charlie left first, off to the police station that was his wife and family. After he left, Alice left the room muttering about organization, while I sat at the old square oak table in one of the four un-matching chairs and stared at the familiar kitchen, with its dark paneled walls, bright yellow cabinets, and white linoleum floor. Nothing had changed. My mom had painted the cabinets eighteen years ago, trying to bring some sunshine into the house. Over the small fireplace in the adjoining, microscopic family room was a row of pictures. First a wedding picture of Charlie and my mom in Las Vegas, then one of the four of us in the hospital after Alice and I were born, taken by a helpful nurse, followed by the procession of my school pictures up to this year's. Those were embarrassing to look at—the bad haircuts, the braces years, the acne that had finally cleared up. I would have to see what I could do to get Charlie to put them somewhere else, at least while I was living here.

It was impossible, being in this house, not to realize that Charlie had never gotten over my mom. It made me uncomfortable.

I didn't want to be too early to school, but I couldn't stay in the house anymore. I shouted for Alice to hurry and dress up.

Finally after an eternity Alice came down in a nice pair of jeans and top, unlike those uptight and fake sitcom high school chicks. Maybe Alice too wasn't keen of drawing any attention, I should have known.

I quickly put on my jacket—thick, non-breathing plastic like a biohazard suit—and headed out into the rain.

It was just drizzling still, not enough to soak me through immediately as I reached for the house key that was always hidden under the eave by the door, and locked up. The sloshing of my new waterproof boots sounded weird. I missed the normal crunch of gravel as I walked.

Inside the truck, it was nice and dry. Either Billy or Charlie had obviously cleaned it up, but the tan upholstered seats still smelled faintly of tobacco, gasoline, and peppermint. The engine started quickly, which was a relief, but loudly, roaring to life and then idling at top volume. Well, a truck this old was bound to have a flaw. The antique radio worked; a bonus I hadn't expected.

"It's really nice." Alice echoed my thoughts.

"Yeah." I replied breathily. She was still in her strange silent phase.

"What's up Ally?" I finally asked her.

"Nothing." She replied while staring intently in my eyes, obviously an extra effort to prove that she wasn't lying, well, it didn't work. I know her just too well.

"Okay. Now tell me the truth." I replied in a low voice, she looked down in embarrassment.

"I saw something." She whispered.

* * *

 **A/N: Wanna read more?**

 **If you are reading this thank you! And I hope you are going to read the actual chapter. Now this story is going to be based on the basic Twilight story but with much different scenarios, well more accurately- after the initial scenes, which are very similar (around 70%) to the original series. My main story starts after the first official chapter 'First Sight'.**

 **Now, I won't bore you more than necessary, the update pattern depends upon the readers' response(everybody needs an incentive) so please make sure to read the story and actually be a part of the journey! Till next time!**


	3. 2 First Sight-II

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything other than this plot and Brandon.**

* * *

 **2\. First Sight- II**

"Oh." I was surprised but not shocked. It's not the first time when she 'saw something'.

"Want to talk about it?"

"No."

I knew not to push her if she was not ready, she would eventually share after she gets her head around it or if she can't handle it alone. I would have to have some patience.

"Okay, don't worry Al, it's will all come together in its own time." I smiled with reassurance; it's what she needed from me.

Finding the school wasn't difficult; like most other things, it was just off the highway. It wasn't obvious at first that it was a school; only the sign, which declared it to be the Forks High School, clued me in. It looked like a collection of matching houses, built with maroon-colored bricks. There were so many trees and shrubs I couldn't see its size at first. Where was the feel of the institution? I thought. Where were the chain-link fences, the metal detectors?

I parked by the first building, which had a small sign over the door reading FRONT OFFICE. No one else was parked there, so I was sure it was off limits, but I decided I would get directions inside instead of circling around in the rain like an idiot.

"I think we should get our schedule and the necessary directions." I said, with a raised eyebrow.

She nodded her affirmation and we moved out of the truck.

Inside, it was brightly lit, and warmer than I'd hoped. The office was small; there was a little waiting area with padded folding chairs, orange flecked commercial carpet, notices and awards cluttering the walls, and a big clock ticking loudly. Plants grew everywhere in large plastic pots, as if there weren't enough greenery outside.

The room was cut in half by a long counter, cluttered with wire baskets full of papers and brightly colored flyers taped to the front. There were three desks behind the counter, one of which was manned by a large, red-haired woman wearing glasses.

The red-haired woman looked up. "Can I help you?"

"I'm Bran Swan," I informed her, and saw the quick recognition in her eyes. I was expected, already the subject of gossip. The Chief's son, the one with the unstable mom, came home at last.

"Alice Swan." Alice too chirped in.

"Of course," she said. She dug through a leaning stack of papers on his desk till she found the ones she was looking for. "I have your schedules right here, Brandon, here's yours Alice, and a map of the school." She brought several sheets to the counter to show me.

"Um, it's Bran, please."

"Oh, sure, Bran."

She went through our classes for us, the fabulous news- other than gym, Alice shared no other class with me, and there was lunch too. Highlighting the best route to each on the map, and gave us both a slip to have each teacher sign, which we were to bring back at the end of the day. She smiled at me and Alice and hoped, like Charlie, that we would like it here in Forks. I smiled back as convincingly as I could.

When we went back out to the truck, other students were starting to arrive. I drove us around the school, following the line of traffic. Most of the cars were older like ours, nothing flashy. At home, I'd lived in one of the few lower income neighborhoods that were included in the Paradise Valley District. It was a common thing to see a new Mercedes or Porsche in the student lot. The nicest car here was a brand-new silver Volvo, and it stood out. Still, I cut the engine as soon as I was in a spot, so that the earsplitting volume wouldn't draw attention to me.

I looked at the map in the truck, trying to memorize it now; hopefully I wouldn't have to walk around with it stuck in front of my nose all day. I stuffed everything in my backpack, slung the strap over my shoulder, and sucked in a huge breath. It won't be that bad, I lied to myself. Seriously, though, this wasn't a life and death situation—it was just high school. It's not like anyone was going to bite me. I finally exhaled, and stepped out of the truck.

"Bran I need to check something here, so, you go ahead, I will join you in a moment." Alice said with gleaming eyes, something was up.

"Okay, cool."

I pulled my hood down over my face as I walked to the sidewalk, crowded with teenagers. My plain black jacket didn't stand out, I was glad to see, though there wasn't much I could do about my height. I hunched my shoulders and kept my head down.

Once I got around the cafeteria, building three was easy to spot. A large black "3" was painted on a white square on the east corner. I followed two unisex raincoats through the door.

The classroom was small. The people in front of me stopped just inside the door to hang up their coats on a long row of hooks. I copied them. They were two girls, one a porcelain-colored blonde, the other also pale, with light brown hair. At least my skin wouldn't be a standout here.

I took the slip up to the teacher, a narrow woman with thinning hair whose desk had a nameplate identifying her as Ms. Mason. She gawked at me when she saw my name—discouraging—and I could feel the blood rush into my face, no doubt forming unattractive splotches across my cheeks and neck. Well, no matter what it always sucks to be the new kid. At least she sent me to an empty desk at the back without introducing me to the class. I just sat down while ignoring the feeling of being watched, I hate when people do this. It just feels like I am some freaky caged animal at the zoo.

Although my seat made it was harder for my new classmates to stare at me, but somehow, they managed. I kept my eyes down on the reading list the teacher had given me and controlling my growing annoyance. It was pretty basic: Brontë, Shakespeare, Chaucer, Faulkner. I'd already read everything. That was comforting… and boring. I wondered if my mom would send me my folder of old essays, or if she would think that was cheating. I went through different arguments with her in my head while the teacher droned on.

When the bell rang, a nasal buzzing sound, a gangly boy with skin problems and hair black as an oil slick leaned across the aisle to talk to me. And if his clothing, mannerism and whispers are telling anything, he's also into guys. Well, I don't care about people's preferences as long as I am not affected by it. So, I tried to look as friendly as possible, but that's really not my forte.

"You're Brandon Swan, aren't you?" He also gave off the vibe of an overly helpful, chess club type.

"Bran," I corrected. Everyone within a three-seat radius turned to look at me.

"Where's your next class?" He asked.

I had to check in my bag. "Um, Government, with Jefferson, in building six.

"There was nowhere to look without meeting curious eyes.

"I'm headed toward building four, I could show you the way.…"

"I'm Eric," he added.

Definitely over-helpful. I forced a smile.

"Thanks."

We got our jackets and headed out into the rain, which had picked up. Several people seemed to be walking too close behind us—like they were trying to eavesdrop or something. I hoped I wasn't getting paranoid.

"So, this is a lot different than Phoenix, huh?" he asked.

"Very."

"It doesn't rain much there, does it?"

"Three or four times a year."

"Wow, what must that be like?" he wondered.

"Sunny," I told him.

"You don't look very tan."

"My mother is part albino."

He studied my face uneasily, and I stifled a groan. It looked like clouds and a sense of humor didn't mix. A few months of this and I'd forget how to use sarcasm.

We walked back around the cafeteria, to the south buildings by the gym. Eric followed me right to the door, though it was clearly marked.

"Well, good luck," he said as I touched the handle.

"Maybe we'll have some other classes together." He sounded hopeful.

I smiled at him—in what I hoped was not an encouraging way—and went inside.

The rest of the morning passed in about the same way. My Trigonometry teacher, Mr. Varner, who I would have disliked, anyway just because of the subject he taught, was the only one who made me stand in front of the class and introduce myself. I stammered, went splotchy red, and tripped over my own boots on the way to my seat.

After two classes, I started to recognize some of the faces in each room. There was always someone braver than the others who would introduce themselves and ask me questions about how I was liking Forks. I tried to be diplomatic, but mostly I just lied a lot. At least I never needed the map.

In every class, the teacher started out calling me Brandon, and though I corrected them immediately, it was depressing. It had taken me years to live down Brandon—thank you so much, Grandpa, for dying just months before I was born and making my mom feel obligated to honor you. No one at home even remembered that Bran was just a nickname anymore. Now I had to start all over again.

One very chatty girl sat next to me in both Trig and Spanish, and she walked with me to the cafeteria for lunch. She was tiny, well, compared to my six feet five inches— I was tall, she was round Alice's height but her wildly curly dark hair made up for an inch or two. I couldn't remember her name, so I smiled and nodded as she prattled about teachers and classes. I didn't try to keep up.

Just before we reached the seat, Alice entered the cafeteria with a megawatt smile. _Strange._

Shifting my gaze I saw a many guys ogling my sister. Argh… not this.

We all sat at the end of a full table with several of Jessica's friends, who she introduced to me and Alice. Apart from the guys' obvious interest in sister, I couldn't complain about the manners here.

I forgot all their names as soon as he said them. They seemed to think it was cool that she'd invited me. The boy from English, Eric, was seated next to me. Some vaguely familiar girl even waved at me from across the hall and after receiving a nod from me, they all giggled. But none of them seemed mean-spirited about it, maybe even flirtatious but definitely not mean.

"How were your classes?" I asked Alice, after finally we all settled down.

"Interesting." Something was definitely up. But I let the topic drop, for now.

Another moment and everyone got into their own things, Alice chatting with the girls and me eating my lunch.

It was there, sitting in the lunchroom, trying to make conversation with seven curious strangers, that I first saw them.

They were seated in the corner of the cafeteria, as far away from where I sat as possible in the long room. There were four of them. They weren't talking, and they weren't eating, though they each had a tray of food in front of them. They weren't gawking at me, unlike most of the other students, so it was safe to stare at them. But it was none of these things that caught my attention.

They didn't look anything alike.

Of the three boys, one was big— muscled like a serious weight lifter, with dark, curly hair. Another was taller— I'd guess six-three or even more, leaner, but still muscular, and honey blond. The last was… somehow small; he was not short, but compared to the other two, he was lanky, less bulky, with untidy, bronze-colored hair. He was more boyish than the others, who looked like they could be in college, or even teachers here rather than students.

There was only one girl; I could tell she was tall, probably taller than most of the other guys at my table —her legs went on forever. She had a beautiful figure, the kind you saw on the cover of the Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue, the kind that made every girl around her take a hit on her self-esteem just by being in the same room. Her hair was golden, gently waving to the middle of her back.

I could feel my hormones reacting to her; but at the same time I couldn't get past the 'holier than though' vibe, she was certainly emitting. I mean, I know that she is seriously out of my league, but I also know that we would never work together.

They were totally different, and yet, they were all exactly alike. Every one of them was chalky pale, the palest of all the students living in this sunless town. Paler than me, the albino. They all had very dark eyes—from here they looked black—despite the range in their hair colors. There were deep shadows under all their eyes—purple shadows, like bruises. Maybe the four of them had just pulled an all-nighter. Or maybe they were recovering from broken noses. Except that their noses, all their features, were straight, angular.

But that wasn't why I couldn't look away.

I stared because their faces, so different, so similar, were all insanely, inhumanly beautiful. The girl _and_ the guys both—beautiful. They were faces you never saw in real life—just airbrushed in magazines and on billboards. Or in a museum, painted by an old master as the face of an angel. It was hard to believe they were real.

They were all looking away; away from each other, away from the rest of the students, away from anything in particular as far as I could tell. It reminded me of models posed oh so artistically for an ad—aesthetic ennui. As I watched, the blonde guy rose with his tray—unopened soda, untouched apple—and walked away with a quick, graceful lope that belonged on a runway. I watched, wondering if they had a dance company here in town, till he dumped his tray and glided through the back door, faster than I would have thought possible. My eyes darted back to the others, who hadn't changed.

"Who are they?" I asked the boy from my English class, Eric.

As he looked up to see who I meant—though he could probably guess from my tone—suddenly the bronze headed guy looked at us. He looked at my neighbor for just a fraction of a second, and then his eyes flickered to mine.

He looked away quickly, faster than I could, though I dropped my stare as soon as he'd glanced our way. In that brief flash of a glance, his face wasn't interested at all—it was like Eric had called his name, and he'd looked up in involuntary response, already having decided not to answer.

My neighbor actually blushed and then giggled, uncomfortable, looking down at the table like I did. Hmm… seems like someone had a crush.

He muttered his answer under his breath. "Those are the Cullens and the Hales. Edward and Emmett Cullen, Jasper and Rosalie Hale. The one who left was Jasper Hale. They live with Dr. Cullen and his wife."

I glanced sideways at messy haired one, who was looking at his tray now, picking a bagel to pieces with thin, pale fingers. His mouth was moving very quickly, his lips barely opening. The other two looked away, but I still thought he might be speaking quietly to them.

Weird names. Old-fashioned. The kinds of names grandparents had—like my name. Maybe that was the thing here? Small-town names? And then I finally remembered that my neighbor was called Jessica, a perfectly common name. There were two girls named Jessica in my History class back home.

"They're all very… good-looking." What an understatement.

"Yeah!" Eric agreed with yet another giggle.

"But don't pine over the blonde bombshell," this was Jessica, "She's with the hulk man. Like dating, you know? And they live together." Her voice held all the shock and condemnation of the small town, but, if I was being honest, I had to admit that even in Phoenix, it would cause gossip.

The guys as one would expect snickered and wagged their eyebrows suggestively. Well, everyone except me and surprisingly Eric, his eyes showed disproval, not at the former but us, as in our table.

I didn't know why, but their reaction made me want to defend them too. Maybe just because they sounded so judgmental. But what could I say? I didn't know anything about them.

"They don't look related… well, I mean, sort of…"

"Oh, they're not. Dr. Cullen is really young. Early thirties. The Cullen kids are all adopted. The Hales—the blondes—are brother and sister, twins, I think, and they're some kind of foster kids."

"They look old for foster kids."

"They are now. Rosalie and Jasper are both eighteen, but they've been with Mr. Cullen since they were little. He's their uncle, I think."

"That's actually kind of amazing—for them to take care of all those kids, when they're so young and everything."

"I guess so," Jessica said, though it sounded like she'd rather not say anything positive. As if she didn't like the doctor and his wife for some reason… and the way she was looking at their adopted kids, I could guess there might be some jealousy involved.

"I think Dr. Cullen can't have any kids, though," she added, as if that somehow made what they were doing less admirable.

Through all this conversation, I couldn't keep my eyes away from the strange family for more than a few seconds at a time.

They continued to look at the walls and not eat.

"Have they always lived in Forks?" I asked.

How could I never have noticed them during my summers here?

"No. They just moved down two years ago from somewhere in Alaska." I felt a strange wave of pity, and relief.

Pity because, as beautiful as they were, they were still outsiders, not accepted. Relief that I wasn't the only newcomer here, well other than Alice, but unlike me she would at least adjust to her new role. She was good at faking than me.

As I examined them again, the messy guy, one of the Cullens, looked up and met my gaze, this time with obvious curiosity. As I immediately looked away, I thought that his look held some kind of unanswered expectation.

"Who is the boy with the reddish brown hair?" I asked. I tried to glance casually in that direction, like I was just checking out the cafeteria; he was still staring at me, but not gawking like the other kids had today— he had this frustrated expression I didn't understand. I looked down again.

"That's Edward. He's hot, sure, but don't waste your time. He doesn't go out with anyone. Apparently none of the girls here are good enough for him," Jessica said sourly.

I wondered how many times he'd turned her down. I pressed my lips together to hide a smile. Then I glanced at him again. Edward. His face was turned away, but I thought from the shape of his cheek that he might be smiling, too.

After a few more minutes, the three of them left the table together. They all were seriously graceful—even the hulk guy. It was a strange thing to watch them in motion together.

I sat at the table with Eric and his friends longer than I would have if I'd been sitting alone. After saying a quick bye to Alice I hurried on. I didn't want to be late for class on my first day.

One of my new acquaintances, who politely reminded me that her name was Angela, had Biology II with me the next hour. We walked to class together in silence. She was probably shy. When we entered the classroom, Angela went to sit at a black-topped lab table exactly like the ones I was used to at home. She already had a neighbor. In fact, all the tables were filled but one.

Next to the center aisle, I recognized Edward Cullen by his unusual metallic hair, sitting next to that single open seat. For some reasons my heart started pounding a little faster than usual. It was like bells were ringing in my head, telling me to turn around and walk away, but I was good will silencing those things. After all these years of existing I knew how to control my mind, it was like building a shield between what I wanted to see and what I wanted to forget.

As I walked down the aisle to do my required intro for the teacher and get my slip signed, I was watching him, trying to make it covert. Just as I passed, he suddenly went rigid in his seat. His face jerked up toward mine so fast it surprised me, staring with the strangest expression—it was more than angry, it was furious, hostile. I looked away, stunned, going red again. I stumbled over a book in the walkway and had to catch myself on the edge of a table. The girl sitting there giggled. I'd been right about the eyes. They were black—coal black.

Mr. Banner signed my slip and handed me a book with no nonsense about introductions and no mention of my full name. I could tell we were going to get along. Of course, he had no choice but to send me to the one open seat in the middle of the room. I kept my eyes down as I went to sit by him, confused and awkward, wondering what I could have done to earn the antagonistic glare he'd given me. I didn't look up as I set my book on the table and took my seat, but I saw his posture change from the corner of my eye. He was leaning away from me, sitting on the extreme edge of his chair and averting his face like he smelled something bad.

Inconspicuously, I sniffed. My shirt smelled like laundry detergent. How could that be offensive? I scooted my chair to the right, giving him as much space as I could, and tried to pay attention to the teacher. The lecture was on cellular anatomy, something I'd already studied. I took notes carefully anyway, always looking down. I couldn't stop myself from shooting the occasional glance at the strange and rather rude guy next to me.

Throughout the entire class, he never relaxed his stiff position on the edge of his chair, sitting as far from me as possible. His hand was clenched into a fist on top of his left thigh, tendons standing out under his pale skin. This, too, he never relaxed. He had the long sleeves of his white shirt pushed up to his elbows, and her forearm flexed with surprisingly hard muscle beneath his pale skin. He wasn't nearly as slight as he'd looked at lunch, sitting next to his burly brother. I also couldn't help but notice how smooth his skin was. I mean, he had next to no hairs, not one freckle, not one scar. _Strange._

The class seemed to drag on longer than the rest. Was it because the day was finally ending, or because I was waiting for his tight fist to loosen? To act at least cordial with me. I mean, it's my first day and my first official meeting with him, I couldn't have offended him even if I had tried.

But he continued to sit so still it looked like he wasn't even breathing. What was wrong with him? Was this how he usually acted? No doubt people stay from them, I am not social but I am approachable.

I even questioned my quick judgment on Jessica's sour grapes at lunch today. Maybe she wasn't just resentful. This couldn't have anything to do with me. This guy didn't know me from Adam. Mr. Banner passed some quizzes back when the class was almost done.

I glanced down at him and noticed that while he had an average height, I surely had few good inches on him. As I slid the paper over he was glaring up at me again, his black eyes full of revulsion. As I flinched away from the hate radiating from his, the phrase if looks could kill suddenly ran through my mind.

At that moment, the bell rang loudly, making me jump, and Edward Cullen was out of his seat. Fluidly he rose— his back to me, and he was out the door before anyone else was out of their seat.

I sat frozen in my seat, staring blankly after him. Rude fucker!

I began gathering up my things slowly, trying to block out the confusion and guilt that filled me. Why the hell should I feel guilty? I hadn't done anything wrong. How could I have? I hadn't actually even met him.

"Aren't you Brandon Swan?" a female voice asked.

I looked up to see a cute, baby-faced girl, with light blue eyes, her hair carefully flat-ironed into a pale blond curtain, smiling at me in a friendly way. She obviously didn't think I smelled bad.

"Bran," I corrected her, smiling back.

"I'm Lauren."

"Hi, Lauren."

"Do you need any help finding your next class?"

"I'm headed to the gym, actually. I think I can find it."

"That's my next class, too." She seemed thrilled, though it wasn't such a big coincidence in a school this small.

We walked to class together; she was a chatterer—she supplied most of the conversation, which made it easy for me. She'd lived in California till she was ten, so she got how I felt about the sun. It turned out she'd been in my English class also. She was the nicest person I'd met today. But as we were entering the gym she asked,

"So, did you stab Edward Cullen with a pencil or what? I've never seen him act like that."

I winced. I guess I wasn't the only one who had noticed. And, apparently, that wasn't Edward Cullen's usual behavior. I decided to play dumb.

"Was that the boy I sat next to in Biology?"

"Yeah," she said.

"He looked like he was in pain or something."

"I don't know," I responded.

"I never spoke to him." She said with a slight wistfulness. "He's weird." She finished, although I caught the familiar resentment I saw earlier in the lunch. Interesting.

Lauren lingered by me instead of heading to the dressing room.

"If I got to sit by you, I would have talked to you."

I smiled at her before walking through the boys' locker room door. She was kind and seemed to like me. But that wasn't enough to make me forget the last strange hour. Alice shared this class with me, although I would have preferred the opposite considering my not so great experiences with gyms.

The Gym teacher, Coach Clapp, found me a uniform, but he didn't make me dress down for today's class. At home, only two years of P.E. were required. Here P.E. was mandatory all four years. My own special version of hell. I watched four volleyball games running simultaneously. Remembering how many injuries I had sustained—and inflicted—playing volleyball, I felt a little nauseated. The final bell rang at last.

I walked slowly to the office to return my paperwork.

The rain had faded away, but the wind was strong, and colder. I zipped my jacket up and shoved my free hand into a pocket. When I walked into the warm office, I almost turned around and walked back out.

Edward Cullen stood at the desk in front of me. Impossible not to recognize his crazy bronze hair. He didn't seem to notice the sound of my entrance. I stood pressed against the back wall, waiting for the receptionist to be free. He was arguing with her in a low, what I could call nothing but velvety voice. I quickly picked up the gist of the argument. He was trying to trade from sixth-hour Biology to another time—any other time.

This could not be about me. It had to be something else, something that happened before I got to the Biology room. The look on his face must have been about some other problem. It was impossible that a stranger could take such a sudden, intense dislike to me. I was too shocked to even be pissed at his strange and hurtful behavior.

The door opened again, and the cold wind suddenly gusted through the room, rustling the papers on the desk, waving through my hair. The girl who came in merely stepped to the desk, placed a note in the wire basket, and walked out again. But Edward Cullen's back stiffened, and he turned slowly to glare at me—his face was ridiculously striking, not even one tiny flaw to make him seem human—with piercing, hate-filled eyes.

For an instant, I felt the oddest thrill of genuine fear, raising the hair on my arms. As if he were going to pull a gun out and shoot me. The look only lasted a second, but it was colder than the freezing wind. He turned back to the receptionist.

"Never mind, then," he said quickly. "I can see that it's impossible. Thank you so much for your help." And he turned on his heel without another look at me, and disappeared out the door.

I went robotically to the desk, my face white for once instead of red, and handed her the signed slip.

"How did your first day go, son?" she asked.

"Fine," I lied, my voice cracking.

I could see I hadn't convinced her.

When I got to the truck, it was almost the last car in the lot. It seemed like a haven, already the closest thing to home I had in this wet, green hell.

I sat inside for a while, waiting for Alice and just staring out the windshield blankly. But soon I was cold enough to want the heater, so I turned the key and the engine roared to life, a second later Alice opened the door and climbed in. With a nod in her direction, I reversed the truck and in company of a loud engine we headed back to Charlie's house. A moment later I started the radio to avoid talking and also in an attempt to think of nothing at all.

* * *

 **A/N: Want more?**

 **As I am sure you have noticed, Brandon, while he shares some attributes with Bella, is not her. He is a guy, who is far less self conscious then Bella. And he has a bit of a temper. What I am trying to say is that Brandon as a character is going to develop with time, he isn't some damsel in distress and maybe Edward too is not the all macho angry young vampire. I am going to include many things here, so be warned.**


	4. 3 Open Book

**Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight.**

* * *

 **3\. OPEN BOOK**

Reaching home, we were welcomed by the phone.

Mom was calling to have a chat with Alice; she was being summoned by the detectives again. I was irritated, not that anybody could have helped it, but every time Alice came back from these summonses, she would have nightmares for weeks. At least she was lucky to have come out of that fucking incident alive.

I tried to talk her into letting me go with her, but she was my sister after all. In no terms she told me that she was old enough to handle the situation.

The impromptu trip stirred everything out of its place. Charlie grumbled about it the whole dinner. Alice pretended that everything was fine. And I just sat there.

The next day was slightly better… and draining.

Well after I was cross examined about Alice, to which I simply told them that it was a family matter, it was better.

Better because it wasn't raining yet, though the clouds were dense and black. It was easier because I knew better what to expect of the day. Lauren came to sit by me in English, and walked with me to my next class, with Mike, and Chess Club Eric glaring at her all the way there; that was kind of uncomfortable. People didn't stare at me quite as much as they had yesterday. I sat with a big group at lunch that included Lauren, Mike, Eric, Jessica, Angela, and several other people whose names and faces I now remembered. I began to feel like I might be treading green water, instead of drowning in it.

It was draining because I was tired; I still couldn't sleep with the rain beating on the house and mind all over the place. I was distracted, cranky, and simply worried about my Ally cat. And it became worse because Mr. Varner called on me in Trig when my hand wasn't raised and I had the wrong answer. It was miserable because I had to play volleyball, and the one time I didn't dodge out of the way of the ball, I hit two of my teammates in the head with one bad volley.

And it became worse because Edward Cullen wasn't in school at all. And that fact gave me enough reasons to over analyze everything and in effect flare my already aggrieved mood.

All morning. All the fucking morning, along with the worries about my sister, I was trying not to think about lunch, not wanting to remember those unneeded hate-filled stares. Part of me wanted to confront him and demand to know what his problem was. While I was lying awake in bed, I even imagined out what I would say. But I knew myself too well to think I would really have enough control to talk rationally.

I usually hate confronting people, but I also have learned that sometimes fighting back is essential or else people just assume that they can spew shit over you whenever they want. All of those bullying and puberty have at least made me tough enough to take a stand when needed.

But when I walked into the cafeteria with Jessica—trying to keep my cool—I saw that his three adopted siblings were sitting together at the same table as before, and he was not with them.

Mike intercepted us and steered us to his table. Jessica seemed thrilled by the attention, and her friends quickly joined us. I tried to tune into the conversations around me, but I was still uncomfortable, waiting to finally get over it by either words or if came to that then my fists. Yes, I was that wounded. I didn't exactly understand why I was making such a big deal of this, but I just wanted to find something, anything, that could have accounted for his behavior, his resentment.

Or maybe I did, his unreasonable hate, rejection bought back the image of me as the too pale, too weird boy huddled in the corner with a bunch of mindless brats, laughing and taunting. Those stained memories bought back the repressed anger, and every other emotion all too clearly.

It was as if I was eleven again, with Edward Cullen shouting at me that 'I was a freak, damaged.'

But he didn't come, and I got more and more tense.

I walked to Biology all wired up when, by the end of lunch, he still hadn't showed. I hesitated for a second at the door, but Edward Cullen wasn't here, either. I exhaled and went to my seat. Lauren followed, talking about an upcoming trip to the beach. She lingered by my desk till the bell rang, then she smiled at me wistfully and went to sit by a boy with braces and something close to a bowl cut.

I didn't want to be arrogant, but I was pretty sure she was into me, which was a strange feeling. Girls hadn't noticed me much at home. I wondered if I wanted her to like me. She was really pretty and everything, but her attention made me feel a little uncomfortable. Why was that? Because she'd picked me instead of the other way around? That was a stupid reason. Ego running wild, like it had to be my decision first.

Although pissed at the absence my 'lab partner', I was glad that I had the desk to myself, that Edward wasn't here. I told myself that again and again. The effect his rejection was having on me was ridiculous.

When the school day was finally done, and the patches of red were fading out of my face from the latest volleyball incident, I changed quickly back into my jeans and heavy sweater. I rushed from the locker room, glad to find that I had successfully evaded Lauren for the moment. I hurried out to the parking lot. It was crowded now with fleeing students. I got in my truck and dug through my backpack to make sure I still had what I needed.

It was no secret that Charlie couldn't cook much besides fried eggs and bacon. Last night, Alice requested that she and I be assigned kitchen detail for the duration of our stay. He was willing enough to let us take over. A quick search revealed that he had no food in the house. So I had my grocery list and the cash from the jar in the cupboard labeled FOOD MONEY, and I was headed to the Thriftway.

I gunned the thunderous engine to life, ignoring the heads that turned in my direction, and backed into a place in the line of cars that were waiting to exit the parking lot. As I waited, trying to pretend that the earsplitting rumble was coming from someone else's car, I saw Cullen and the Hale twins walking up to their car. It was the shiny new Volvo. Of course. I hadn't noticed their clothes before—I'd been sort of rapt by their faces. Now that I looked, it was obvious that they were all wearing stuff that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe. Attractive as they all were, they could have worn garbage sacks and started a trend. It seemed like too much for them to have both looks and money. Though, as far as I could tell, life worked that way most of the time. It didn't look like it bought them any popularity here.

But I couldn't really believe that. The isolation had to be something they chose; I couldn't imagine any door their good looks wouldn't open for them.

The Thriftway was not far from the school, a few streets south, off the highway. It was nice to be inside the supermarket; it felt normal. I did most of the shopping at home, and I fell easily into the pattern of the familiar job. The store was big enough inside that I couldn't hear the tapping of the rain on the roof to remind me where I was.

When I got home, I unloaded all the groceries, reorganizing the cupboards till everything was in a place that made sense. Charlie's system was kind of haphazard. I hoped Charlie wouldn't mind, that he wasn't OCD about his kitchen the way I was. Once I was satisfied with the organization, I worked on the prep for dinner.

I heard the front door bang open, and I hurried downstairs to take the potatoes out and put the steak in to broil.

"Bran?" my father called out when he heard me on the stairs.

Who else? I thought to myself.

"Hey, Dad, welcome home."

"Thanks." He hung up his gun belt and stepped out of his boots as I moved around the kitchen. As far as I was aware, he'd never shot the gun on the job. But he kept it ready. When I'd come here as a child, he would always remove the bullets as soon as he walked in the door. I guess he considered me old enough now not to shoot myself by accident, and not depressed enough to shoot myself on purpose.

"What's for dinner?" he asked warily. Mom was an imaginative cook, when she bothered, and her experiments weren't always edible. I was surprised, and sad, that he seemed to remember that far back.

"Steak and potatoes," I answered. Charlie looked relieved.

He obviously felt awkward standing in the kitchen doing nothing; he lumbered into the living room to watch TV while I worked. I think we were both more comfortable that way. I made a salad while the steak cooked, and set the table.

I called him in when dinner was ready, and he sniffed appreciatively as he walked into the room.

"Smells good, Bran."

"Thanks."

Since Alice wasn't here, we ate in silence for a few minutes. It wasn't awkward. Both of us like quiet. In some ways, we were good roommates.

"So, how did you like school? Make any friends?" he asked as he was taking seconds.

"Well, I have a few classes with this guy named Mike. I sit with his friends at lunch. And there's this girl, Lauren, who's friendly. Everybody seems pretty nice." With one outstanding exception.

"That must be Mike Newton. Nice boy—nice family. His dad owns the sporting goods store just outside of town. He makes a good living off all the backpackers who come through here."

We ate in silence for a minute.

"Do you know the Cullen family?" I asked, trying to sound casual.

"Dr. Cullen's family? Sure. He's a great guy."

"They—the kids—are a little… different. They don't seem to fit in very well at school."

I was surprised to see Charlie's face get red, the way it does when he's angry.

"People in this town," he muttered. "Dr. Cullen is a brilliant surgeon who could probably work in any hospital in the world, make ten times the salary he gets here," he continued, getting louder. "We're lucky to have him — lucky that his wife wanted to live in a small town. He's an asset to the community, and all of those kids are well behaved and polite. I had my doubts, when they first moved in, with all those adopted teenagers. I thought we might have some problems with them. But they're all very mature — I haven't had one speck of trouble from any of them. That's more than I can say for the children of some folks who have lived in this town for generations. And they stick together the way a family should — camping trips every other weekend… Just because they're newcomers, people have to talk."

It was the longest speech I'd ever heard Charlie make. He must feel strongly about whatever people were saying.

I backpedaled. "They seemed nice enough to me. I just noticed they kept to themselves. They're all very attractive," I added, trying to be more complimentary.

"It's a good thing he's happily married. A lot of the nurses at the hospital have a hard time concentrating on their work with him around."

We lapsed back into silence as we finished eating. He cleared the table while I started on the dishes. He went back to the TV, and after I finished washing the dishes by hand—no dishwasher—I went upstairs to work on my math homework. I could feel a tradition in the making.

That night it was finally quiet. I wanted to talk to Mom and Alice but knew that it wasn't probably the best idea.

After some twist and turn I finally fell asleep fast, exhausted.

The rest of the week was uneventful. I talked with Alice and Mom and noted with a breath of relief that Alice indeed was okay, mentally and emotionally. Although she didn't share the exact reason or anything about why she was still not back, she promised that she would be in Forks on Monday evening.

I too got used to the routine of my classes. By Friday I was able to recognize, if not name, almost all the kids at school. In Gym, the people on my team learned not to send the ball my direction. I stayed out of their way.

Edward Cullen didn't come back to school.

Every day, I watched, pretending I wasn't looking, until the rest of the Cullens entered the cafeteria without him. Then I could relax and join in the conversation. Mostly it centered around a trip to the La Push Ocean Park in two weeks that Mike was putting together. I was invited, and I agreed to go, more out of politeness than a strong urge to hit the beach. I believed beaches should be hot, and—aside from the ocean—dry.

By Friday I was totally comfortable entering my Biology class, no longer worried that Edward would show. For all I knew, he'd dropped out of school. I tried not to think about him, but I couldn't totally erase the worry that I was responsible for his continued absence, ridiculous as it seemed.

My first weekend in Forks continued without incident. Charlie worked most of the time. I wrote my mom and sister some fake cheerful e-mails, got ahead on my homework, and cleaned up the house—obviously OCD wasn't a problem for Charlie. I drove to the library Saturday, but I didn't even bother to get a card—there wasn't anything interesting I hadn't read; I would have to visit Olympia or Seattle soon, and find a good bookstore. I wondered idly what kind of gas mileage the truck got… and winced at the thought.

The rain stayed soft over the weekend, quiet, so I was able to sleep.

People greeted me in the parking lot Monday morning. I didn't know all their names, but I smiled at everyone. It was colder this morning, but at least it wasn't raining. In English, Lauren took her now-normal seat by my side. We had a pop quiz on Wuthering Heights. It was straightforward, very easy.

All in all, I was feeling a lot more comfortable than I had thought I would feel by this point. More comfortable than I had ever expected to feel here.

When we walked out of class, the air was full of swirling bits of white. I could hear people shouting excitedly to each other. The wind was freezing against my cheeks, my nose.

"Wow," Lauren said. "It's snowing."

I looked at the little cotton fluffs that were building up along the sidewalk and swirling erratically past my face.

"Ugh." Snow. There went my good day.

She looked surprised. "Don't you like snow?"

"Snow means it's too cold for rain." Obviously. "Besides, I thought it was supposed to come down in flakes—you know, each one unique and all that. These just look like the ends of Q-tips."

"Haven't you ever seen snow fall before?" she asked incredulously.

"Sure I have." I paused. "On TV."

Lauren laughed. And then a big, wet ball of dripping snow smacked into the back of her head. We both turned to see where it came from. I suspected Eric, who was walking away, his back toward us—in the wrong direction for her next class. Lauren had the same idea. She bent over and began scraping together a pile of white mush.

"I'll see you at lunch, okay?" I kept walking as I spoke. The last thing I wanted was a wad of dirty ice melting down my neck the rest of the day.

She just nodded, her eyes on Eric's back.

I kept a sharp lookout on the way to the cafeteria with Jessica after Spanish. Mush balls were flying everywhere. I had a binder in my hands, ready to use it as a shield. Jessica thought I was hilarious, but something in my expression kept her from lobbing a snowball at me herself.

Lauren caught up to us as we walked in the doors, laughing, her usually sleek hair turning frizzy from the wet. She and Jessica were talking animatedly about the snow fight as we got in line to buy food. I glanced toward that table in the corner out of habit. And then I froze where I stood. There were four people at the table.

Jessica pulled on my arm.

"Hey? Bran? What do you want?"

I looked down; my ears were hot. I had no reason to feel self-conscious, I reminded myself. I hadn't done anything wrong.

"What's with Bran?" Mike asked Jessica.

"Nothing," I answered. I grabbed a soda bottle as I caught up to the end of the line.

"Aren't you hungry?" Jessica asked.

"Actually, I feel a little sick," I said.

She shuffled a few steps away from me.

I waited for them to get their food, and then followed them to the table, my eyes anywhere but the back corner of the cafeteria.

I drank my soda slowly, stomach churning. Twice Lauren asked, with a concerned tone that seemed a little over the top, how I was feeling. I told her it was nothing, but I was wondering if I should play it up and escape to the nurse's office for the next hour.

Ridiculous. I shouldn't have to run away. Why was I being such a coward? Was it so bad to be glared at? It wasn't like he was actually going to stab a knife in me.

I decided to allow myself one glance at the Cullen family's table. Just to read the mood.

I kept my head turned away and glanced out of the side of my eye. None of them were looking this way. I turned my head a little.

They were laughing. Edward, Jasper, and Emmett all had their hair entirely saturated with melting snow. Rosalie was leaning away as Emmett shook his dripping hair toward her, leaving a wide arc of splatters across the front of their jackets. They were enjoying the snowy day, just like everyone else—only they looked more like a scene from a movie than the rest of us.

But, aside from the laughter and playfulness, there was something different, and I couldn't quite figure out what that difference was. I examined Edward, comparing him to my memory of last week. His skin was somehow less pale, I decided—flushed from the snow fight maybe—the circles under his eyes much less noticeable. His hair was darker, wet and slicked down against his head. But there was something else. I forgot to pretend I wasn't staring as I tried to put my finger on the change.

"What are you staring at, Bran?" Mike asked.

At that precise moment, Edward's eyes flashed over to meet mine.

I turned my head completely toward Mike, shifting my shoulders in his direction, too. Mike leaned away, surprised by my sudden invasion of his personal space.

I was sure, though, in the instant our eyes had met, that he didn't look angry or disgusted as he had the last time I'd seen him. He just looked curious again, unsatisfied in some way. His lack of emotions, well compared to the range and intensity he showed last time, was infuriating. It was as if I had only imagined the bad way he had treated me.

"Edward Cullen is staring at you," Mike said, looking over my shoulder.

"He doesn't look angry, does he?" I couldn't help asking.

"No." Mike looked confused, then he suddenly smiled. "What did you do, said anything about his sister?"

"No! I've never even talked to him. I just… don't think he likes me very much," I admitted. I kept my body angled toward Mike, but the back of my neck had goose bumps, like I could feel his fucking eyes on me.

"The Cullens don't like anybody… well, they don't notice anybody enough to like them. But the creep is still staring at you."

"Stop looking at him," I insisted.

He snickered, but finally looked away.

But after a moment, Mike spoke again—he was planning an epic battle of the blizzard in the parking lot after school and wanted us to join. Jessica agreed enthusiastically. The way she looked at Mike left little doubt that she would be up for anything he suggested. I kept silent. I wondered how many years I would have to live in Forks before I was bored enough to find frozen water exciting. Probably much longer than I planned to be here.

For the rest of the lunch hour I very carefully kept my eyes at my own table. Edward didn't look like he was planning to murder me anymore, so it was no big thing to go to Biology. My stomach twisted at the thought of sitting next to him again.

I didn't really want to walk to class with Mike as usual—he seemed to be a popular target for snowballs—but when we got to the door, everyone besides me groaned in unison. It was raining, washing all traces of the snow away in clear, icy ribbons down the side of the walkway. I pulled my hood up, hiding my smile. I would be free to go straight home after Gym.

Mike kept up a string of complaints on the way to building four.

Once inside the classroom, I was relieved that Edward's chair was still empty. It gave me a minute to settle myself. Mr. Banner was walking around the room, distributing one microscope and box of slides to each table. Class still had a few minutes before it started, and the room buzzed with conversation. I kept my eyes away from the door, doodling idly on the cover of my notebook.

I heard very clearly when the chair next to me moved, but I kept my eyes focused on the pattern I was drawing.

"Hello," said a quiet, musical voice.

I looked up, stunned that he was speaking to me. He was sitting as far away from me as the desk allowed, but his chair was angled toward me. His hair was dripping wet, disheveled — even so, he looked like he'd just finished shooting a commercial for hair gel. His face was friendly, open, with a slight smile. But his eyes were careful.

"My name is Edward Cullen," he continued. "I didn't have a chance to introduce myself last week. You must be Bran Swan."

My mind was whirling with confusion. Had I made up the whole thing? He was totally polite now. I had to say something; he was waiting. But I couldn't think of anything normal to say.

"H-how do you know my name?" I stammered.

He laughed softly. "Oh, I think everyone knows your name. The whole town's been waiting for you to arrive."

I frowned, though it wasn't as if I hadn't guessed as much.

"No," I persisted like an idiot. "I meant, why did you call me Bran?"

He seemed confused. "Do you prefer Brandon?"

"Absolutely not," I said. "But I think Charlie—I mean, my dad—must call me that behind my back—that's what everyone here seemed to know me as." The more I tried to explain, the more moronic it sounded.

"Oh." He let it drop. I looked away awkwardly.

Luckily, Mr. Banner started class at that moment. I tried to concentrate as he explained the lab we would be doing today. The slides in the box were out of order. Working as lab partners, we had to separate the slides of onion root tip cells into the phases of mitosis they represented and label them accordingly. We weren't supposed to use our books. In twenty minutes, he would be coming around to see who had it right.

"Get started," he commanded.

"Want me to do the honor, partner?" Edward asked. I looked up to see him smiling a dimpled smile. I was still a little bit shocked at his reversed personality, was he bipolar? Or maybe he was just upset that day.

"Sure, go ahead," I said, when he raised his eyebrows.

He studied the first slide for a quarter of a second—maybe less.

"Prophase."

He made to switch out the slide for the next, then paused and looked up at me.

"Or did you want to check?" he challenged.

"Yeah, no harm in double checking" I said.

The slide was indeed Prophase. With my asset he wrote the word Prophase neatly on the top line of our worksheet. His handwriting was perfect, like he'd taken classes in penmanship or something. Did anyone still do that? His presence like the last time was still rattling my gut.

I changed the slide and examined it as the Anaphase. He barely glanced through the microscope at the slide, and then wrote Anaphase on the next line, looping his A like it was calligraphy, like he was addressing a wedding invitation. I'd had to do the invitations for my mom's wedding. I'd printed the labels in a fancy script font that didn't look anything as elegant as Edward's handwriting.

He moved the next slide into place, while I took advantage of his diverted attention to simply observe. So close up, you'd think I'd be able to see something—a hint of a pimple, a pore, something—wrong with him. But there was nothing. Too right.

Suddenly his head flipped up, eyes to the front of the class, just before Mr. Banner called out, "Mr Cullen?"

"Yes, Mr. Banner?" Edward slid the microscope toward me as he spoke.

"Perhaps you should let Mr. Swan have an opportunity to learn?"

"Of course, Mr. Banner."

Edward turned and gave me a well, go ahead then look.

I bent down to look through the eyepiece. I could sense he was watching—only fair, considering how I'd been ogling him—but it made me feel awkward, like just inclining my head was a clumsy move.

At least the slide wasn't difficult.

"Metaphase," I said.

"Do you mind if I look?" he asked as I started to remove the slide. His hand caught mine, to stop me, as he was speaking. His fingers were ice cold, like he'd been holding them in a snowdrift before class. But that wasn't why I jerked my hand away so quickly. When he touched me, it stung my hand like a low-voltage electric shock.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, quickly pulling his hand back, though he continued to reach for the microscope. I watched him, a little confused, as he examined the slide for another tiny fraction of a second.

"Metaphase," he agreed, then slid the microscope back to me.

I tried to exchange slides, but they were too small or my fingers were too big, and I ended up dropping both. One fell on the table and the other over the edge, but Edward caught it before it could hit the ground.

"Ugh," I exhaled, mortified. "Sorry."

"Well, the last is no mystery, regardless," he said. His tone was right on the edge of laughter. Butt of the joke again.

Edward calligraphied the words Metaphase and Telophase onto the last two lines of the worksheet.

We were finished before anyone else was close. I could see Mike and her partner comparing two slides again and again, and another pair had their book open under the table.

Which left me with nothing to do but try not to look at him… unsuccessfully. I glanced down, and he was staring at me, that same strange look of frustration in him eyes. Suddenly I identified that elusive difference in him face.

"Did you get contacts?" I blurted out.

He seemed puzzled by my apropos-of-nothing question. "No."

"Oh," I mumbled. "I thought there was something different about your eyes."

He shrugged, and looked away.

In fact, I knew there was something different. While it may seem strange to have remembered his face so accurately but I had not forgotten one detail of that first time he'd glared at me like he wanted me dead. I could still see the flat black color of his eyes—so jarring against the background of his pale skin. Today, his eyes were a completely different color: a strange gold, darker than butterscotch, but with the same warm tone. I didn't understand how that was possible, unless he was lying for some reason about the contacts. Or maybe Forks was making me crazy in the literal sense of the word.

I looked down. His hands were clenched into fists again.

Mr. Banner came to our table then, looking over our shoulders to glance at the completed lab, and then stared more intently to check the answers.

"So, Edward…," Mr. Banner began.

"Bran identified half of the slides," Edward said before Mr. Banner could finish.

Mr. Banner looked at me now; his expression was skeptical.

"Have you done this lab before?" he asked.

I shrugged. "Not with onion root."

"Whitefish blastula?"

"Yeah."

Mr. Banner nodded. "Were you in an advanced placement program in Phoenix?"

"Yes."

"Well," he said after a moment, "I guess it's good you two are lab partners." He mumbled something else I couldn't hear as he walked away. After he left, I started doodling on my notebook again.

"It's too bad about the snow, isn't it?" Edward asked. I had the odd feeling that he was forcing himself to make small talk with me. It was like he had heard my conversation with Lauren at lunch and was trying to prove me wrong. Which was impossible. I was turning paranoid.

"Not really," I answered honestly, instead of pretending to be normal like everyone else. I was still trying to shake the stupid feeling of suspicion, and I couldn't concentrate on putting up a socially acceptable front.

"You don't like the cold." It wasn't a question.

"Or the wet."

"Forks must be a difficult place for you to live," he mused.

"You have no idea," I muttered darkly.

He looked riveted by my response, for some reason I couldn't imagine.

"Why did you come here, then?"

No one had asked me that—not straight out like he did, demanding. I was again getting a little irritated with this strange guy.

"It's… complicated."

"I think I can keep up," he pressed.

I paused for a long moment, and then made the mistake of meeting his gaze. His dark gold eyes confused me, and I answered without thinking.

"My mother got remarried," I said.

"That doesn't sound so complex," he disagreed, but his tone was suddenly softer. "When did that happen?"

"Last September." I couldn't keep the sadness out of my voice.

"And you don't like him," Edward guessed, his voice still kind.

"No, Phil is fine. A little young, maybe, but he's a good guy."

"Why didn't you stay with them?"

I couldn't understand his interest, but he continued to stare at me with penetrating eyes, as if my dull life's story was somehow vitally important.

"Phil travels most of the time. He plays ball for a living." I half-smiled.

"Have I heard of him?" he asked, smiling in response.

"Probably not. He doesn't play well. Just minor league. He moves around a lot."

"And your mother sent you here so that she could travel with him." He said it as an assumption again, not a question.

My hunched shoulders straightened automatically. "No, she didn't. I sent myself."

His eyebrows pushed together. "I don't understand," he admitted, and he seemed more frustrated by that fact than he should be.

I sighed. Why was I explaining this to him? Specially him? He stared at me, waiting.

"She stayed with me at first, but she missed him. It made her unhappy… so I decided it was time to spend some quality time with Charlie." My voice was glum by the time I finished.

"But now you're unhappy," he pointed out.

"And?" I challenged.

"That doesn't seem fair." He shrugged, but his eyes were still intense.

I laughed once. "Haven't you heard? Life isn't fair."

"I believe I have heard that somewhere before," he agreed dryly.

"So that's it," I insisted, wondering why he was still staring at me that way. It was unnerving.

His head tilted to the side, and his gold eyes seemed to laser right through the surface of my skin. "You put on a good show," he said slowly. "But I'd be willing to bet that you're suffering more than you let anyone see."

I shrugged. "I repeat… And?"

"I don't entirely understand you, that's all."

I frowned. "Why would you want to?"

"That's a very good question," he murmured, so quietly that I wondered if he was talking to herself. However, after a few seconds of silence, I decided that was the only answer I was going to get.

It was awkward, just looking at each other, but he didn't look away.

What was wrong with this guy, he is the strangest person I have ever met. It was like I was some experiment rate, or better yet a slide he was trying to read under microscope. I didn't like it.

I scowled at the blackboard in front of me.

At a frustrated sigh I glanced back, and he was still looking at me, but his expression was different… a little frustrated, or irritated.

"Am I annoying you?" he asked. He sounded rather amused. Fucker!

The truth— yes. "Not exactly. My face is so easy to read — my mother always calls me her open book." I finished with a forced smile. I couldn't help the open book comment, but it was far better than the other responses in my head.

"On the contrary, I find you very difficult to read." After all the things I told him?

"Well, you don't have to worry, unless you are a mind reader?" I replied with a smirk.

He smiled widely at this, flashing a set of ultrawhite, ultraperfect teeth. Are they as sharp as they are looking?

Mr. Banner called the class to order then, and I turned with relief to listen. I was in disbelief that I'd just explained my dreary life to this bizarre, beautiful boy who may or may not despise me. He'd seemed engrossed in our conversation, but now I could see, from the corner of my eye, that he was leaning away from me again, his hands gripping the edge of the table with unmistakable tension.

I tried to appear attentive as Mr. Banner illustrated, with transparencies on the overhead projector, what I had seen without difficulty through the microscope. But my thoughts were unmanageable.

When the bell finally rang, Edward rushed as swiftly and as gracefully from the room as he had last Monday. And, like last Monday, I stared after him with my jaw hanging open.

Lauren got to my table almost as quickly.

"That was awful," she said. "They all looked exactly the same. You're lucky you had Edward for a partner."

"Yeah, he seemed to know his way around an onion root." I suppressed my defensive statement of my contribution toward the assignment.

"He was friendly enough today," Lauren commented as we shrugged into our raincoats. She didn't sound happy about it.

I tried to make my voice casual. "I wonder what was with him last Monday."

I couldn't concentrate on Lauren's chatter as we walked to Gym, and P.E. didn't do much to hold my interest, either. Lauren was on my team today. She helpfully covered my position as well as her own, so I only had to pay attention when it was my turn to serve; my team knew to get out of the way when I was up.

The rain was just a mist as I walked to the parking lot, but I was still pretty damp when I got in the truck. I turned the heat up as high as it could go, for once not caring about the mind-numbing roar of the engine.

As I looked around me to make sure the way was clear, I noticed the still, white figure. Edward Cullen was leaning against the front door of the Volvo, three cars down from me, and staring intently in my direction. The smile was gone, but at least so was the murder—for now, anyway. I looked away and threw the truck into reverse, almost hitting a rusty Toyota Corolla in my rush. Lucky for the Toyota, I stomped on the brake in time. It was just the sort of car that my truck would make scrap metal of. I took a deep breath, still looking out the other side of my car, and cautiously pulled out again. This time I made it. I stared straight ahead as I passed the Volvo, but I could see enough in my peripheral vision to know that he was laughing. Fucker!

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 **A/N: Thank you guys for awesome reviews and support! It makes me all mushy and giggly!**

 **Now, to answer A-book-geek's question, I am not sure about writing a series, although if I could think of an interesting enough plot for a series worth writing(as I am so not going to write the baby thing), then maybe. And also sorry for cutting Alice off like that, but it was necessary.**


	5. 4 Phenomenon

**Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight.**

 **Dedication: To my sweet reader Rita01tx , you are like my personal cheer leader. Love you to the moon and back!**

* * *

 **4\. Phenomenon**

For some reason I was agitated. I was waiting for Alice, Charlie suggested that it woud be more sensible for him to pick Alice, while I did my pending works.

I have cleaned the house, finished my homework, did the preparation for dinner, and I have also started the laundry. I was slowly and surely stressing out. It was like I too had a spider sense like Spiderman; Alice would probably laugh her guts out if she ever heard that. Good thing she's a seer, and not a mind reader.

I finally decided to have some rest, and was out not long after hitting the pillow.

When I opened my eyes, to the light rays of the morning, something was different.

It was the light. It was still the gloomy light of a cloudy day in the forest, but it was clearer somehow. I realized there was no fog obscuring my window.

And with a start I realized that I had slept through all evening and night yesterday, and my stomach was not at happy with missing the dinner.

I jumped up to look outside, and then groaned.

A fine layer of snow covered the yard, dusted the top of my truck, and whitened the road. But that wasn't the worst part. All the rain from yesterday had frozen solid—coating the needles on the trees in crazy patterns, and making the driveway a deadly ice slick. I had enough trouble not falling down when the ground was dry; it might be safer for me to go back to bed now.

Charlie's cruiser was missing, sigh, I was alone.

Listening more closely I could hear the faint lyrics of one of the Alice's crazy song collection. Alice! I quickly threw on a hoodie and descended down the stairs, quickly but with caution. Nothing good would come of me having a broken limb.

As expected Alice was there, frolicking around with her Lady Gaga songs. I can never understand her taste in music.

Seeing her elevated whatever unknown anxiety I have been suffering yesterday, strange, I am used to live without Ally, she is more outgoing than me, and often goes on small trips and tours.

I was still analyzing things when I was brought to the present with an armful of my sister. Well, good to know that she missed me too.

"Hey, I know I am very nice and all but would you please release me from your arm lock, Jesus, you are pretty strong for something so microscopic." I teased, and was rewarded with a punch in the stomach. Sheesh, she really can throw a punch.

"Shut up, sometimes it's really hard to believe that we are related. You sure you weren't switched after birth?"

"I always reasoned this as to why you are you. And please, everyone can see that I am very much the child of the family, but I can't say the same for some with pixie look." I bantered back.

"Fuck you Brandon Swan!"

"Such a lady. I am sure dad would love to hear how versed you are with words."

"Oh please, as if he would ever believe you over me, have you seen my puppy dog eyes? I can melt a rock with that."

"Seriously Al?" I said as I threw down a quick bowl of cereal and some orange juice from the carton.

I knew better than to argue with her, I don't why I even bother with her. She was like a chatting machine. But I also loved her for that. She was the only person who could lift my mood in seconds.

I was still shaking my head, while trying to hide my smile, when I noticed something. There was a purplish mark around Alice wrist, I didn't saw it before as Alice was wearing one of her shirts but it was visible while she was rinsing her plate.

"What the hell is that?"

"What?" She said while trying to cover her mark.

"Don't play dumb Al."

"It's nothing, just an injury." She insisted.

Rising from the chair I bounded to her and slid the shirt sleeve up to reveal the mark, it was a hand mark.

"Alice I want the truth."

She merely sighed and shook her head in affirmation. I waited as she gathered her thoughts.

"You won't believe me."

"Just tell me first, and then let me decide what I would and wouldn't do."

"Okay. I promise to tell you everything today, just not now." She pleaded as she freed her arm from my grasp.

"Alice I vaguely remember listening the same thing a week before now too." I protested.

"No. I promise, this time I am going to tell you everything."

I sighed, and then nodded in response.

It took every ounce of my concentration to make it down the icy brick driveway alive. I almost lost my balance when I finally got to the truck, but I managed to cling on to the side mirror and save myself. Alice was snickering the entire way. That little douche was almost sliding on the ice, making me look like a slacker. The sidewalks at school would be complex today… so much potential for humiliation.

My truck seemed to have no problem with the black ice that covered the roads. I drove very slowly, though, not wanting to carve a path of destruction through Main Street.

Stopping in the front of the office, Alice said a quick bye, and hurried to the office stating that she don't want to be seen with me when I would shirk my way to the school. Douche!

I proceeded to park the truck and when I finally got out of my truck at school, I discovered why I'd had so little trouble. Something silver caught my eye, and I walked to the back of the truck—carefully holding the side for support—to examine my tires. There were thin chains crisscrossed in diamond shapes around them. Charlie had gotten up who knows how early to put snow chains on my truck.

I frowned, surprised that my throat suddenly felt tight. That wasn't the way it was supposed to work. I probably should have been the one to think about putting chains on the tires, if I could figure out how to do that. Or at least I should have helped him with the chore. It wasn't his job.…

Except that, actually, it kind of was. He was the parent. He was taking care of me, his children. That was how it worked in books and on TV shows, but it made me feel upside down in a strange way.

I was standing by the back corner of the truck, struggling to contain the sudden wave of emotion the snow chains had brought on, when I heard a strange sound.

It was a high-pitched screech, and almost as soon as I registered it, the sound was already painfully loud. I looked up, startled.

I saw several things simultaneously. Nothing was moving in slow motion, the way it does in the movies. Instead, the adrenaline rush seemed to make my brain work faster, and I was able to absorb in clear detail a few things all at once.

Edward Cullen was standing four cars down from me, mouth open in horror. His face stood out from a sea of faces, all frozen in the same mask of shock. Also, a dark blue van was skidding, tires locked and squealing against the brakes, spinning wildly across the ice of the parking lot. It was going to hit the back corner of my truck, and I was standing between them. I didn't even have time to close my eyes.

Just before I heard the shattering crunch of the van folding around the truck bed, something hit me, hard, but not from the direction I was expecting. My head cracked against the icy blacktop, and I felt something solid and cold pinning me to the ground. I realized I was lying on the pavement behind the tan car I'd parked next to. But I didn't have a chance to notice anything else, because the van was still coming. It had curled gratingly around the end of the truck and, still spinning and sliding, was about to collide with me again.

"Come on!" He said the words so quickly I almost missed them, but the voice was impossible not to recognize.

Two thin, white hands shot out in front of me, and the van shuddered to a stop a foot from my face, his pale hands fitting exactly into a deep dent in the side of the van's body.

Then his hands moved so fast they blurred. One was suddenly gripping under the body of the van, and something was dragging me, swinging my legs around like a rag doll's, till they hit the tire of the tan car. There was a groaning metallic thud so loud it hurt my ears, and the van settled, glass popping, onto the asphalt—exactly where, a second ago, my legs had been.

It was absolutely silent for one long second. Then the screaming started. In the abrupt chaos, I could hear more than one person shouting my name. But more clearly than all the yelling, I could hear Edward Cullen's low, frantic voice in my ear.

"Bran? Are you all right?"

"I'm fine." My voice sounded strange. I tried to sit up, and realized he was holding me against the side of his body. I must have been more traumatized than I realized, because I couldn't budge his arm at all. Was I weak with shock?

"Be careful," he warned as I struggled. "I think you hit your head pretty hard."

I became aware of a throbbing ache centered above my left ear.

"Ow," I said, surprised.

"That's what I thought." Nothing seemed funny to me, but it sounded like he was trying not to laugh.

"How in the…" I trailed off, trying to clear my head, get my bearings. "How did you get over here so fast?"

"I was standing right next to you, Bran," he said, his voice suddenly serious again.

I turned to sit up, and this time he helped me, but then he slid as far from me as he could in the limited space. I looked at his concerned, and sort of innocent expression, and was disoriented again by his gold-colored eyes. What was I asking him?

And then they found us, a crowd of people with tears streaming down their faces, shouting at each other, shouting at us.

"Don't move," someone instructed.

"Get Tyler out of the van!" someone else shouted. There was a flurry of activity around us. I tried to get up, but Edward's hand pushed my shoulder down.

"Just stay put for now."

"You were over there," I suddenly remembered. "You were by your car."

His expression hardened abruptly. "No, I wasn't."

"I saw you." Everything around us was confusion. I could hear the lower voices of adults arriving on the scene. But I firmly held on to the argument; I was right, and savior or not the fucker was going to admit it.

"Bran, I was standing with you, and I pulled you out of the way."

He stared at me, and something strange happened. It was like the gold of his eyes turned up, like his eyes were drugging me, hypnotizing me. It was devastating in a disturbingly weird, exciting way. But his expression was anxious. I thought he was trying to communicate something crucial

"But that's not what happened," I said in a much stronger tone than expected.

The gold in his eyes blazed again. "Please, Bran."

Our proximity should have bothered me, but I knew that whatever this was, was important and big.

"Why?" I asked.

"Trust me?" he pleaded.

I could hear the sirens now. "Will you explain everything to me later?"

"Fine," he snapped, suddenly exasperated.

"Okay," I snapped back, unable to process his mood swings with everything else I was trying to come to terms with. What was I supposed to think, when what I remembered was impossible?

It took six EMTs and two teachers—Mr. Varner and Coach Clapp—to shift the van far enough away from us to bring the stretchers in. Alice was by my side, crying hysterically. I tried to appease her, but to no avail.

Edward insisted he hadn't been touched, and I tried to do the same, but he was quick to contradict me. The fucker. He told them I'd hit my head, and then made it sound worse than it was, throwing around words like concussion and hemorrhage. I still protested and whined until Alice was growling at me just get in the van, or else she would slap the shit out of me. I wanted to die when they put on the neck brace. It looked like the entire school was there, watching soberly as they loaded me in the back of the ambulance. Alice was by my side, holding my hand while crying buckets. Edward got to ride in the front. It was a thousand times more humiliating than I'd imagined today would be, and I hadn't even made it to the sidewalk.

To make matters worse, Chief Swan arrived before they could get me safely away.

"Bran!" he yelled in panic when he recognized me on the stretcher.

He walked to my side and hugged a sniffling Alice, making sure she was fine, before he strted fussing over me.

"I'm completely fine, Char—Dad," I sighed. "There's nothing wrong with me."

He rounded on the closest EMT for a second opinion. While the EMT tried to talk him down, I tuned them out to consider the jumble of absurd images churning in my head—images that were not possible. When they'd lifted me away from the car, I had seen the deep dent in the tan car's bumper—a very distinct dent that fit the shape of Edward's shoulders… as if he had braced himself against the car with enough force to damage the metal frame.…

And then there was his family, looking on from a distance, with expressions that ranged from disapproval (Emmett) to fury (Rosalie), but held no hint of concern for their little brother's safety.

I remembered the sensation of almost flying through the air… that hard mass that had pinned me to the ground… Edward's hand under the frame of the van, like it was holding the van off the ground…

I tried to think of a logical explanation that could make sense of what I had just seen. All I could come up with was that I was having a psychotic episode. I didn't feel crazy, but maybe crazy people always felt sane.

Naturally, the ambulance got a police escort to the county hospital. I felt ridiculous the whole time they were unloading me. What made it worse was that Edward simply glided through the hospital doors on his own.

They put me in the emergency room, a long room with a line of beds separated by pastel-patterned curtains. A nurse put a pressure cuff on my arm and a thermometer under my tongue. Since no one bothered pulling the curtain around to give me some privacy, I decided I wasn't obligated to wear the embarrassing neck brace anymore.

After a while of suffering through Alice silent cry and others fussing over me, I finally asked Alice to go back to school, she was reluctant but I told her to cover up for me by taking the assignments and other important stuff. After a minute or two of me arguing that I was okay, she reluctantly di as I asked.

As soon as Alice walked away, I quickly unfastened the Velcro and threw it under the bed.

There was another flurry of hospital personnel, another stretcher brought to the bed next to me. I recognized Tyler Crowley from my Government class beneath the bloodstained bandages wrapped tightly around his head. Tyler looked a hundred times worse than I felt. But he was staring anxiously at me.

"Bran, I'm so sorry!"

"I'm fine, Tyler—you look awful, are you all right?" As we spoke, nurses began unwinding his bloody bandages, exposing dozens of shallow slices all over his forehead and left cheek.

He ignored me. "I thought I was going to kill you! I was going too fast, and I hit the ice wrong.…" He winced as one nurse started dabbing at his face.

"I'm fine, Tyler — you look awful, are you all right?" As we spoke, nurses began unwinding his soiled bandages, exposing a myriad of shallow slices all over his forehead and left cheek.

He ignored me. "I thought I was going to kill you! I was going too fast, and I hit the ice wrong…" He winced as one nurse started dabbing at his face.

"Don't worry about it; you missed me."

"How did you get out of the way so fast? You were there, and then you were gone…"

"Umm… Edward pulled me out of the way."

He looked confused. "Who?"

"Edward Cullen — he was standing next to me." I'd always been a terrible liar; I didn't sound convincing at all.

"Cullen? I didn't see him… wow, it was all so fast, I guess. Is he okay?"

"I think so. He's here somewhere, but they didn't make him use a stretcher."

I knew I wasn't crazy. What had happened? There was no way to explain away what I'd seen.

They wheeled me away then, to X-ray my head. I told them there was nothing wrong, and I was right. Not even a concussion. I asked if I could leave, but the nurse said I had to talk to a doctor first. So I was trapped in the ER, harassed by Tyler's constant apologies and promises to make it up to me. No matter how many times I tried to convince him I was fine, he continued to beg for forgiveness. Finally, I closed my eyes and tried to ignore him.

"Is he sleeping?" a pleasing voice asked. My eyes flew open.

Edward was standing at the foot of my bed, his expression more a smirk than a smile. Why was he still here? I stared at him, trying to put the pieces together in my head. He didn't look like someone who could stop attacking vehicles with his bare hands.

"Hey, um, Edward, I'm really sorry—" Tyler began.

Edward lifted a hand to stop him.

"No blood, no foul," he said, flashing his bright white teeth. He moved to sit on the edge of Tyler's bed, facing me. He smirked again.

"So, what's the verdict?" he asked me.

"There's nothing wrong with me, but they won't let me go," I said. "How come you aren't strapped to a gurney like the rest of us?"

"It's all about who you know," he answered. "But don't worry, I came to spring you."

Then a doctor walked around the corner. He was young, he was blond… and he was handsomer than any movie star I'd ever seen. He was pale, though, and tired-looking, with circles under his eyes. From Charlie's description, this had to be Edward's father.

"So, Mr. Swan," Dr. Cullen asked in a gentle voice, "how are you feeling?"

"I'm fine," I said, for the last time, I hoped.

He walked to the lightboard on the wall over my head, and turned it on.

"Your X-rays look good," he said. "Does your head hurt? Edward said you hit it pretty hard."

"It's fine," I repeated with a sigh, throwing a quick, questioning look Edward's way. He avoided my eyes.

The doctor's cool fingers probed lightly along my skull. He noticed when I winced.

"Tender?" he asked.

"Not really." I'd had worse.

I heard a low laugh, and looked over to see Edward smiling.

"Well, your father is in the waiting room—you can go home with him now. But come back if you feel dizzy or have trouble with your eyesight at all."

"Can't I go back to school?" I asked, imagining Charlie trying to play nurse.

"Maybe you should take it easy today."

I glanced at Edward. "Does he get to go to school?"

"Someone has to spread the good news that we survived," Edward said blithely.

"Actually," Dr. Cullen corrected, "most of the school seems to be in the waiting room."

"Ugh," I moaned.

Dr. Cullen raised his eyebrows. "Do you want to stay?"

"No, no!" I insisted, throwing my legs over the side of the bed and hopping down quickly. Too quickly—I staggered, and Dr. Cullen caught me.

"I'm fine," I assured again. No need to explain that my balance problems had nothing to do with hitting my head.

"Take some Tylenol for the pain," he suggested as he steadied me.

"It doesn't hurt that bad," I insisted.

"It sounds like you were extremely lucky," Dr. Cullen said, smiling as he signed my chart with a flourish.

"Lucky Edward just happened to be standing next to me," I amended, shooting another glance at the subject of my statement.

"Oh, well, yes," Dr. Cullen agreed, suddenly occupied with the papers in front of him. Then he looked away, at Tyler, and walked to the next bed. It made me sure the doctor was in on it.

"I'm afraid that you'll have to stay with us just a little bit longer," he said to Tyler, and began checking his cuts.

As soon as the doctor's back was turned, I moved to Edward's side.

"Can I talk to you for a minute?" I whispered under my breath. He took a step back from me, his jaw suddenly clenched.

"Your father is waiting for you," he said through his teeth.

I glanced at Dr. Cullen and Tyler.

"I need to speak with you alone," I pressed.

He glared—but it wasn't the same as that first day, not nearly as homicidal, so I just waited. After a second, he turned his back and stalked quickly down the long room. Long as my legs are, I nearly had to run to keep up. As soon as we turned the corner into a short hallway, he spun around to face me.

"What do you want?" he asked, sounding annoyed. His eyes were cold.

My words came out with less certainty than I'd planned. "You owe me an explanation," I reminded him.

"I saved your life—I don't owe you anything."

Much to my annoyance I flinched back from the bitterness in his voice. "Why are you acting like this?" I snapped.

"Bran, you hit your head, you don't know what you're talking about." His tone was cutting.

His anger only made me more sure that I was right, though. "There's nothing wrong with my head."

He turned up the heat of his glare. "What do you want from me, Bran?"

"I want to know the truth," I said. "I want to know why I'm lying for you."

"What do you think happened?" he snapped.

It was harder to say the words out loud, where I could hear the crazy. It shook my conviction, but I tried to keep my voice even and calm.

"I know that you weren't standing next to me—Tyler didn't see you, either, so it's not concussion damage. That van was going to crush us both—but it didn't. It looked like your hands left dents in the side of it—and your shoulders left a dent in the other car, but you're not hurt at all. The van should have smashed my legs, but you were holding it up.…" It just kept sounding worse and worse. I couldn't continue.

He was staring at me, his eyes wide and incredulous. But he couldn't entirely hide the tension, the defensiveness.

"You think I lifted a van off you?" His tone questioned my sanity, but there was something off. It was like a line delivered by a skilled actor—so hard to doubt, but at the same time, the frame of the movie screen reminded you nothing was actually real.

I just nodded once.

He smiled, hard and mocking. "Nobody will believe that, you know."

"I'm not going to tell anybody."

Surprise flitted across his face, and the smile faded. "Then why does it matter?"

"It matters to me," I said. "I don't like to lie—so there'd better be a good reason why I'm doing it."

"Can't you just thank me and get over it?"

"Thank you," I said, and then folded my arms. Waiting.

"You're not going to let it go, are you?"

"Nope."

"In that case… I hope you enjoy disappointment."

He scowled at me, and I glared right back. I was the first to speak, trying to keep my anger in check.

"If you were going to be like this about it," I said, "why did you even bother?"

He paused, and for a brief moment his face was unexpectedly vulnerable, the mask of hardness was dropped and he looked like a small boy. Younger. A ridiculous notion to think, but was true nonetheless.

"I don't know," he whispered.

And then he turned his back on me and walked away.

It took me a few minutes until I was able to move. When I could walk, I made my way slowly to the exit at the end of the hallway.

The waiting room was unpleasant, like I'd expected. It seemed like every face I knew in Forks was there, staring at me. Alice and Charlie rushed to my side; I put up my hands.

"There's nothing wrong with me," I assured them, abruptly aggravated by the whole crazy situation.

"What did the doctor say?"

"Dr. Cullen saw me, and he said I was fine and I could go home." Lauren, Mike, Jeremy, and Eric were all there, beginning to converge on us. "Let's go," I urged.

Charlie put one arm out toward me, like he thought I needed support. I retreated quickly toward the exit doors, waving halfheartedly at my friends. Hopefully they would forget about this by tomorrow.

Unlikely.

It was a huge relief—the first time I'd ever felt that way—to get into the cruiser.

We al drove in silence. I was so wrapped up in my thoughts that I barely knew Charlie or even Alice were there. I was positive that Edward's defensive behavior in the hall was a confirmation of the bizarre things I still could hardly believe I'd seen.

When we got to the house, Charlie finally spoke.

"Um… you'll need to call Renée." He hung his head, guilty.

I was appalled. "You told Mom?"

"Sorry."

I slammed the cruiser's door a little harder than necessary on my way out.

My mom was in hysterics, of course. I had to tell her I felt fine at least thirty times before she would calm down. She begged me and Ally to come home—forgetting the fact that home was empty at the moment—but her pleas were easier to resist than I would have thought. I was consumed by the mystery Edward presented. Stupid, stupid, stupid. I wasn't as eager to escape Forks as I should be, as any normal, sane person would be.

I wanted to talk to Alice before but my head felt like a burning furnace, so I decided I might as well go to bed early that night. Charlie and especially Alice continued to watch me anxiously, and it was getting on my nerves. I stopped on my way to grab three Tylenol from the bathroom. They did help, and, as the pain eased, I drifted to sleep.

* * *

 **Thank you for your kind words Rita01tx, you are a sweetheart. And I hope you like what I am planning for our broody vamp and pixie girl. *Next chapter hint* Bran's ire is going to fall on the very 'in control' member of the Cullen clan(And I am not talking about Edward).**


	6. 5 Invitations

**Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight.**

* * *

 **5\. INVITATIONS**

I found myself the center of attention for the rest of the week, which really sucked. Tyler Crowley was super annoying, following me around, coming up with different hypothetical ways to make it up to me. I tried to convince him that what I wanted more than anything else was for him to forget about it—especially since nothing had actually happened to me—but he wouldn't give up. He found me between classes and sat at our now-crowded lunch table. Lauren and Eric didn't seem to like that; they flashed more side-eye at him than they did at each other, which made me worry that I'd gained another unwelcome fan. Like being into the new kid was the latest fad.

No one was worried about Edward—no one followed him around or asked for his eyewitness account. I always included him in my version; he was the hero—he had pulled me out of the way and nearly been crushed, too, but all anyone ever said was that they hadn't even realized he was there until the van was pulled away.

I wondered a lot about why no one else had noticed him standing so far away by his car, before he was suddenly and impossibly saving my life. There was only one solution I could think of, and I didn't like it. It had to be because no one else was so aware of Edward. No one watched him the way I did. It was pathetic, and kind of stalkerish.

People avoided Edward the same way they usually did. The Cullens and the Hales sat at the same table they always sat at, not eating, talking only to each other. None of them ever glanced my way anymore.

When Edward sat beside me in class, as far away as possible, like usual, he seemed totally unaware that I was sitting there next to him. Like my seat was empty. Only now and then, when his fists would suddenly ball up—skin stretched even whiter over his knuckles—did I wonder if he wasn't as entirely oblivious as he seemed.

I wanted very much to continue our conversation from the hospital hallway, and the day after the accident I tried. He'd been so furious when we talked before. And, even though I really wanted to know what had actually happened and I thought I deserved the truth, I also knew I had been pretty pushy, considering that he had just saved my life and all. I didn't think I'd thanked him properly.

He was already in his chair when I got to Biology. He didn't turn when I sat down, just kept staring straight ahead. He showed no sign that he knew I was there.

"Hey, Edward," I said.

He turned his head half an inch toward me, but his eyes stayed focused on the blackboard. He gave me one little half-nod, then turned his face away from me.

And that was the last contact I'd had with him, though he was there, a foot away from me, every day. I watched him sometimes, unable to stop myself—always from a distance, though, in the cafeteria or parking lot. I watched as his golden eyes grew noticeably darker day by day (then abruptly, they were honey-colored again. And the slow progression toward black would start over). But in class I gave no more notice that he existed than he showed toward me. It was miserable. And then the dreams started.

It was as if he wished he hadn't pushed me out of the way of Tyler's van. I couldn't think of any other explanation. Since he obviously preferred me dead, he was pretending that I was.

With every progressive day, week, I got irritated, to angry, to outright furious over the dickhead alias Edward Cullen.

Despite my outright lies, the tone of my e-mails got my mom worked up. Or maybe my meddling sister was behind that. She called a few times, demanding to know I was okay. I tried to convince her it was just the rain that had me down.

I even yelled at Alice once or twice after she again refused to share anything with me. I was currently giving the same treatment to Alice, which I was receiving from the Cullen boy. It was as if the whole world was plotting against me.

I grew more and more obsessive toward the Cullen family- it was now more than obvious that there something that they all were hiding from the town, world.

Lauren, at least, was pleased by the obvious coolness between my lab partner and me. I guessed she'd been worried that the shared trauma would have bonded us or something. I don't know what does with her not to like Edward.

She got more confident, sitting on the edge of my table to talk before Biology class started, ignoring Edward as completely as Edward ignored us.

The snow washed away for good after that one dangerously icy day. Lauren complained that she'd never gotten to stage her big snowball fight, but she was happy that the beach trip would soon be possible. The rain continued heavily, though, and the weeks passed.

I hadn't really been aware of how much time was passing. Most days looked the same—gray, green, and more gray. My stepdad had always complained that Phoenix didn't have seasons, but as far as I could tell, Forks was much worse. I had no idea spring was anywhere near appearing until I was walking to the cafeteria with Mike one rainy morning.

"Hey, Bran?" he asked.

I wanted to hurry out of the rain, but Mike was barely shuffling forward. I slowed my pace to match his.

"What's up, Mike?"

"I was just wondering if anyone's asked you to the spring dance yet. You know, it's girls' choice."

"Oh. Um, no."

"Huh. Do you want… I mean, do you think Lauren will ask you?"

"I hope not," I said, maybe a little too fast.

He looked up at me, surprised. "Why not?"

"I don't do dances."

"Oh."

We shuffled forward for a minute in silence. He was thoughtful. I was impatient to get out of the drizzle.

"Do you mind if I tell her that?" he asked.

"No. That's probably a good idea. I don't want to have to tell anyone no if I don't have to."

"Okay."

"When's the dance again?"

We were close to the cafeteria now. He pointed to a bright yellow poster advertising the dance. I'd never noticed it before, but it was curling around the edges and a little washed out, like it had been up for a while.

"A week from Saturday," he said.

I was pretty sure Mike had already said something when, the next morning, Lauren was not her usual bubbly self in English. At lunch she sat away from both Mike and me, and she didn't say much to anyone. She stayed quiet as she walked with me to Biology, but she came over like usual to sit on the edge of my lab table. As always, I was too aware of Edward sitting close enough to touch, but still so far away he might as well have been a product of my imagination.

"So," Lauren said, looking at the floor instead of at me. "Mike said that you don't do dances."

"Yeah, that's true."

She looked at me then, her expression hurt and a little angry. I hadn't even told her no yet, and I already felt guilty.

"Oh," she said. "I thought maybe he was making it up."

"Uh, sorry, no. Why would he make up a story like that?"

She frowned. "I think he wants me to ask him."

I forced a smile. "You should. Mike's great."

She shrugged. "I guess." Then she took a deep breath and looked me straight in the eye with a quick, nervous smile. "Would this 'I don't dance' thing change if I was the one asking you to go?"

From the corner of my eye, I saw Edward's head suddenly tilt in my direction. Like he was listening to my answer, too.

It took me a little too long to respond. I still felt guilty, but mostly distracted. Was Edward listening? Why? I swear I would punch him if he said anything inappropriate today. I was sick of him, and his fucking mood swings.

"Um, sorry, again."

Lauren's face fell. "Would it change if someone else asked you?"

"No. It's a moot point anyway. I'm going to be in Seattle that day." I needed to get out of town—two Saturdays from now was the perfect time to go.

"Does it have to be that weekend?" Lauren asked.

"Yeah. But don't worry about me. You should take Mike. He's much more fun than I am."

"Yeah, I guess," she mumbled, and she turned to walk back to her seat. I watched her shoulders slump forward, and I felt horrible. I closed my eyes and pushed my fingers against my temples, trying to force Lauren's dejected posture out of my head. Mrs. Banner started talking. I sighed and opened my eyes.

Edward was staring straight at me, that familiar expression of frustration even more obvious now in his black eyes. It was almost soothing to see his distraught over me, like me.

I stared back, stubbornly, challenging him to look away. Of course, he didn't. Dick. His eyes kept boring into mine, like he was trying to find something really important inside them. I continued to stare also, channeling all my anger, resentment, agony, helplessness. My hands started to shake.

"Mr. Cullen?" the teacher called, looking for the answer to some question I hadn't heard.

"The Krebs Cycle," Edward answered, seeming reluctant as he turned to look at Mr. Banner.

I put my head down, pretending to stare at my book, as soon as his eyes released me. It bothered me—the rush of emotion pulsing through me, just because he'd happened to look at me for the first time in six weeks. It wasn't normal. It was actually pretty pathetic, and probably more than that. Unhealthy.

I tried hard not to be aware of him for the rest of the class, or, since that was impossible, at least not to let him know that I was aware of him. When the bell finally rang, I turned away from him to stack up my books, expecting him to rush out as usual.

"Bran?"

His voice shouldn't sound so familiar, like I'd been hearing it all my life instead of just an hour here and there a few weeks ago.

I turned slowly toward him, not wanting to feel what I knew I would feel when I looked at his face. I'm sure my expression was guarded; his was unreadable. He didn't say anything.

"Yes?" I asked.

He just looked at me.

"Well? Get over with it!" I snapped.

"Okay," he said, and much to my annoyance his lips curled up into a smile, his dimples flashing.

"Okay…" I looked away—down at my hands, then over toward the chalkboard. It was hard to concentrate when I looked at him, and this conversation wasn't making much sense.

"I'm sorry," he said, and there was no joke in his voice now. "I'm being very rude, I know. But it's better this way, really."

I looked at him again; his expression was totally serious now.

"I don't know what you mean."

"It's better if we're not friends," he explained. "Trust me."

My eyes narrowed. I'd heard that one before.

He seemed surprised by my reaction. "What are you thinking?" he asked.

"I guess… that it's too bad you didn't figure this out earlier, saved yourself the regret."

"Regret?" My answer seemed to have caught him off guard. "Regret for what?"

"For not letting Tyler's van crush me when it had the chance."

He looked completely shocked. He stared at me for a minute, wide-eyed, and when he finally spoke he almost sounded mad.

"You think I regret saving your life?" The words were quiet, just under his breath, but still pretty intense.

I glanced quickly toward the front of the room, where a couple of kids were still lingering. I caught one of them looking at us. He looked away and I turned back to Edward.

"Yeah," I said, just as quietly. "I mean, what else? Seems kind of obvious."

He made the strangest sound—he exhaled through his teeth and it was like a hiss. He still looked mad.

"You're an idiot," he told me.

Well, that was my limit. Either flee from there, or make Edward Cullen loose his shiny teethes.

It was bad enough that I was so fixated on this guy, bad enough that I thought about him all the time, dreamed about him every night. I didn't need to sit here like the moron he thought I was and just stare while he insulted me. I grabbed my books and lurched out of my chair, knowing all the while that he was right—I was an idiot, because I wanted to stay, even if all I got to hear was more abuse from him. I needed to get out of the room as fast as possible, so of course, I tripped over the threshold and half-fell through the doorway, my books scattering across the sidewalk. I stood there for a second with my eyes closed, thinking about leaving them. Then I sighed and bent to pick them up.

"Fuck!" I grunted.

Edward was there; he'd already stacked them in a pile, which he offered to me.

I took them without really looking at him.

"Thanks," I mumbled.

"You're welcome," he answered. Still mad, sounded like.

I straightened up, and hurried to Gym without looking back.

Gym didn't make my day any better. We'd moved on to basketball. On the first day, even though all of them had seen me play volleyball, the other kids still seemed to think I should be good. It didn't take them long to figure out the truth. They never passed to me now, which was good, but with all the running I still managed to have a few accidents per game. Today was worse than yesterday, because I couldn't concentrate on my feet. All I could think of was Edward.

It was a relief, as usual, when I was finally free to leave. I couldn't wait to be back inside my truck, alone. The truck was in pretty decent shape, all things considered. I'd had to replace the taillights after the accident, but that was it. If the paint job weren't already hopeless, maybe I would have had to do something about the new scrapes. Tyler's parents had to sell his van for parts.

I rounded the corner when I heard a low laugh.

Edward was walking past the front of my truck, looking straight forward, his mouth not betraying even the hint of a smile.

I froze for a second. I wasn't prepared to be so close to him. I was used to bracing myself before Biology, but this was unexpected. He kept walking. I jerked the door open and climbed in, slamming it a little too hard behind me. Alice was already there, silently wallowing in her corner with her high volume songs and earphones. She didn't even open her eyes to look at me. I sighed before I revved the deafening engine twice and reversed out into the aisle. Edward was in his car already, two spaces down, sliding out into the lane in front of me, cutting me off. He stopped there—to wait for his family, I assumed. I could see the four of them walking this way, but they were still all the way back by the cafeteria. I looked in my rearview mirror. A line was beginning to form. Right behind me, Jessica Stanley was standing beside her car, waving. I ducked my head and pretended I couldn't see her.

While I was sitting there, focusing all my efforts on not staring at the driver in front of me, I heard a knock on my passenger side window. It was Jessica. I glanced in my mirror again, confused. Her car was still running, the door left open. I leaned across the cab to crank the window down. It was stiff. I got it halfway there, then gave up.

"Sorry, Jessica, I can't move. I'm pinned in." I gestured to the Volvo. Obviously there was nothing I could do.

"Oh, I know—I just wanted to ask you something while we're trapped here." She grinned.

What was with this school? Was this some kind of practical joke? Hazing the new guy?

"Will you go to the spring dance with me?" she continued.

"I'm not going to be in town, Jessica." I realized I sounded too sharp. I had to remember it wasn't Jessica's fault that Lauren had already used up my patience.

"Yeah, Lauren told me that," she admitted.

"Then why—"

She shrugged. "I was hoping you were just letting her down easy."

Okay, it was totally her fault.

"Sorry, Jessica," I said, not feeling nearly as bad as I had with Lauren. "I'm not going to the dance."

"That's cool," she said, unfazed. "We still have prom."

Before I could say anything, she was walking back to her car. I could feel the red patches staining my face. Alice was still there with her eyes closed, but with a faint smirk. Straight ahead, Rosalie, Emmett, and Jasper were all sliding into the Volvo. In the rearview mirror, I could see Edward's eyes—staring at me. They were crinkled around the edges, and his shoulders were shaking with laughter. It was like he'd heard everything Jessica had said, and found my splotchy reaction hilarious. I revved my engine, wondering how much damage it would do to the Volvo and the black car beside it if I just muscled my way through and made my escape. I was pretty sure my truck could win that fight.

But they were all in, and Edward was speeding away with his nearly silent engine.

I tried to concentrate on something else—anything else—as I drove home. Would Lauren ask Mike to the dance? Would he blame me if she didn't? Was Jessica serious about the prom? What would be my excuse for that one? Maybe I could work out a visit to my mom, or maybe she could come here. What was I going to make for dinner? We hadn't had chicken in a while.

But each time I finished answering my own question, my mind went right back to Edward.

By the time I got home, I'd run out of new questions, so I gave up trying to think about something else. I decided to make chicken enchiladas because it would keep me busy for a while and I didn't have that much homework. It also forced me to concentrate on all the dicing—chicken, chilies, onions. All the while, though, I kept running through Biology class again, trying to analyze every word he'd spoken to me. What did he mean, it was better if we weren't friends?

My stomach dropped when I realized the only thing he could have meant. He must know how obsessed I was with him—it wasn't like I was hiding it very well. He didn't want to lead me on… so we couldn't even be friends… because he didn't want to hurt my feelings the way I'd hurt Lauren and Jessica today. Edward didn't want to have to feel that guilt. Because he wasn't interested in me at all.

Which made perfect sense, obviously, because I wasn't interesting.

My eyes were starting to sting and tear from the onions. I grabbed a dish towel, ran it under the faucet, and then rubbed it across my eyes. It didn't really help.

I was boring—I knew this about myself. And Edward was the opposite of boring. This wasn't about his secret, whatever it was, if I even remembered any of that insane moment clearly. At this point, I almost believed the story I'd told everyone else. It made a lot more sense than what I thought I'd seen.

But he didn't need a secret to be out of my league. He was also brilliant and mysterious and beautiful and completely perfect. I have at least accepted the fact that I find him attractive, I mean look at him.

If he was, in fact, able to lift a full-sized van with one hand, it really didn't matter. Either way, he was fantasy and I was the very most mundane kind of reality.

And that was fine. I could leave him alone. I would leave him alone. I would get through my self-imposed sentence here in purgatory, and then hopefully some school in the Southwest, or possibly Hawaii, would offer me a scholarship.

I tried to think about palm trees and sun while I finished dinner.

Charlie seemed worried when he came home and smelled the green peppers, but he came around after the first bite. It was kind of a strange feeling, but also a good feeling, watching as he started to trust me in the kitchen.

"Dad?" I asked when he was almost done.

"Yeah, Bran?"

"Um, I just wanted to let you know that I'm going to Seattle a week from Saturday. Just for the day." I didn't want to ask permission—it set a bad precedent—but the statement form sounded rude, so I added, "If that's okay?"

"Why?" He sounded surprised, like he couldn't imagine any reason that would make someone want to leave Forks's town limits.

"Well, I wanted to get a few books—the library here is pretty limited. And maybe some warmer clothes." I had a little extra money, since, thanks to Charlie, I hadn't had to buy a car—though the truck did need a bigger gasoline budget than I'd expected—and the cold-weather clothes I'd picked up in Phoenix seemed to have been designed by people who'd never actually lived in temperatures below seventy but had once had such a climate described to them.

"That truck probably doesn't get very good gas mileage," he said, echoing my thoughts.

"I know, I'll stop in Montessano and Olympia—and Tacoma if I have to."

"Are you going all by yourself?"

"Yeah."

"Seattle is a big city—you could get lost," he warned.

"Dad, Phoenix is five times the size of Seattle—and I can read a map, don't worry about it."

"Do you want me to come with you?"

I wondered if he was really that worried about me, or if he just thought all the Saturdays he left me alone were adding up to neglect. Probably worried. I was sure that, in his head, he still pictured me as a five-year-old most of the time.

"That's okay. It's not going to be very exciting."

"Will you be back in time for the dance?"

I just stared back at him until he got it.

It didn't take him long. "Oh, right."

"Yeah," I said. I didn't get my balance issues from my mom.

The next morning at school, I parked as far as possible from the shiny silver Volvo. I would keep my distance. I wouldn't notice him anymore. He'd have nothing to complain about from here on out.

As I slammed the truck door shut, I lost my hold on the key and it splashed down in a puddle at my feet. As I bent to retrieve it, a pale hand flashed out and grabbed it first. I jerked upright, almost smacking my head into him. Edward Cullen was right there, leaning casually against my truck.

"How do you do that?" I gasped.

"Do what?" He held out my key while he spoke. As I reached for it, he dropped it in my palm.

"Appear out of thin air?"

"Bran, it's not my fault if you are exceptionally unobservant." His voice was just a murmur, muted velvet, and his lips were holding back a smile. Like he thought I was hilarious.

How was I supposed to ignore him when he wouldn't ignore me? That was what he wanted, right? Me, out of his bronze-y hair? Wasn't that what he'd said to me yesterday? We couldn't be friends. Then why was he talking to me? Was he sadistic? Was this his idea of fun—torture the idiotic kid he could never possibly care about?

I stared at him, frustrated. His eyes were light again today, a deep, golden honey color. My thoughts got confused, and I had to look down. His feet were just a half-foot from mine, oriented toward me, unmoving. Like he was waiting for a response.

I looked past him, toward the school, and said the first dumb things that came into my mind. "Why the traffic jam last night? I thought you were supposed to be pretending I don't exist."

"Ah. That was for Jessica's sake. She was figuratively dying for her chance at you."

I blinked. "What?" Irritation from yesterday's memory bled into my voice. I hadn't thought Edward and Jessica were friends. Did Jessica ask him…? That didn't seem likely.

"And I'm not pretending you don't exist," he continued like I hadn't spoken.

I met his eyes again, trying hard to keep my mind focused, no matter how golden they seemed, or how long his lashes were against his pale violet lids.

"I don't know what you want from me," I told him.

It was annoying how my thoughts seemed to explode straight through my lips when I was near him, like I had no filter at all. I would never have spoken this way to another girl.

The amused half-smile disappeared, and his face was suddenly guarded.

"Nothing," he said too quickly, almost like he was lying.

"Then you probably should have let the van take me out. Easier that way."

He stared for a second, and when he answered, his voice was cold. "Bran, you are utterly absurd."

I must be right about the torture thing. I was just a way for him to pass time in this boring town. An easy mark.

I was past him in one long stride.

"Wait," he said, but I forced myself to keep moving, not to look back.

"I'm sorry, that was rude," he said, somehow right next to me, keeping pace. "I'm not saying it wasn't true, but it was rude to say it out loud."

"Why won't you leave me alone?"

"I wanted to ask you something, but you sidetracked me."

I sighed and slowed, though he didn't seem like he was having a hard time keeping up. "Fine." I was such a sucker. "What do you want?"

"I was wondering if, a week from Saturday—you know, the day of the spring dance—"

I stopped, wheeling to look down at him, and adorned an intimidating stance facing him. "Is this funny to you?"

He stared up at me, seeming oblivious to the drizzling rain that was falling down his face. For a second, I was actually angry—angry that he had to be so-so beautiful.

His amused expression was back, the hint of dimples threatening on his cheeks.

His eyes were wickedly amused. "Will you please allow me to finish?"

I bit my lip and clasped my hands together, interlocking my fingers, so I couldn't do anything rash.

Walk away, I told myself.

I didn't move.

"I heard that you were going to Seattle that day, and I wondered if you wanted a ride."

That was not what I was expecting.

"Huh?"

"Do you want a ride to Seattle?"

I wasn't sure where his joke was heading now. "With who?"

"Myself, obviously." He enunciated every syllable, like he thought maybe English wasn't my first language.

"Why?" Where was the punch line?

"Well, I was planning to go to Seattle in the next few weeks, and to be honest, I'm not sure if your truck can make it."

Finally, I was able to start walking again, goaded by the insult to my truck.

"Make fun of me all you want, but leave the truck out of it," I said.

Again, he kept up easily. "Why would you think that I'm making fun of you?" he asked. "The invitation is genuine."

"My truck is great, thanks."

"Can your truck make it to Seattle on one tank of gas?"

Before the truck, I'd never cared one way or another about any car, but I could feel a prejudice against Volvos forming.

"I don't see how that's your problem."

"The wasting of finite resources is everyone's problem," he said primly.

"Seriously, Edward." I felt a charge go through me as I said his name aloud, and I didn't like it. "I can't keep up with you. I thought you didn't want to be my friend."

"I said it would be better if we weren't friends, not that I didn't want to be."

"Oh, wow, great, so that's all cleared up." Thick sarcasm. I realized I had stopped walking again. I looked down at his rain-washed face, clean and perfect, and my thoughts stuttered to a halt.

"It would be more… prudent for you not to be my friend," he explained. "But I'm tired of trying to stay away from you, Bran."

There was no humor in his face now. His eyes were intense, narrowed, the long lines of his ridiculously long lashes stark black against his skin. His voice had a strange heat to it. I couldn't remember how to breathe.

"Will you accept a ride with me to Seattle?" he demanded, voice still burning.

I couldn't speak, so I just nodded.

A quick smile reshaped his face, and then he was serious again.

"You really should stay away from me," he warned. "I'll see you in class."

He spun on his heel and then walked quickly back the way we'd come.

Why lord? Why?

* * *

 **So? Okay… as a way of apology, I am giving you guys a chance to choose between two** **possible** **scenes… this is the last chapter which actively follows the book sequence, from here on it would a different story.(Well not extremely different, Bran would still end up with Edward.)**

 **So, do you want the original scene, where Bran and Edward go for dinner, or do you want Alice in it. Although with Alice, the scene will differ greatly from the book. And I promise you will get more of Jas-Al scenes after this chapter.**


	7. 6 Blood Typing

**Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight.**

* * *

 **6\. BLOOD TYPING**

I walked to English in a kind of daze. I didn't realize when I first came through the door that class had already started.

Ms. Mason's irritated voice was my first clue. "Thank you for joining us, Mr. Swan."

Patches of red formed on my face as I hurried to my seat.

It wasn't until class was over that I noticed Lauren wasn't sitting next to me like she usually did, and I remembered that I had hurt him feelings. But she and Eric waited at the door for me, so I hoped that meant I would be forgiven eventually. As we walked, Lauren seemed to become herself again, getting more enthusiastic as she talked about the weather report for the weekend. The rain was supposed to take a short break, so him beach trip would be possible. I tried to match him enthusiasm to make up for disappointing him yesterday, but I could tell I wasn't fooling either of them. Rain or no rain, we would be lucky if the temperature even got close to fifty degrees. Not my idea of a beach day.

The rest of the morning passed in a blur. It was hard to believe I wasn't imagining things again—that Edward really had said those words, and that his eyes had looked that way when he was saying them. Something about him confused my reality. First I'd thought I'd seen him stop a van barehanded, and now this. The original delusion seemed more likely than the second—that I appealed to him on any level. But here I was, walking into this one with eyes wide open, and I didn't even care that the punch line was coming. At the moment, it seemed like a decent trade—his laughter later for that look in his eyes now.

I was both eager and nervous when I finally got to the cafeteria at lunchtime. Would he ignore me like usual? Would there be any sign from him that the conversation this morning had, in fact, happened? With a small percentage of my brain I listened to Mike. Lauren had asked him to the dance, and they were going to go with a few others—Angela and Ben, Jessica and Tyler. I think I grunted in the right places, because he didn't seem to notice how little of my attention I was giving him.

My eyes went straight to him table as soon as I was through the door, and then disappointment hit me like a punch to the gut. There were only three people there, and Edward wasn't one of them. Was he going to disappear every time something significant happened?

I won't back down like before, that's for sure.

The conversation this morning was only significant for _us_ , I was sure.

I lost my appetite. I grabbed a bottle of lemonade for something to carry and followed Mike robotically through the line, wishing I were the kind of person who could just go home early, the kind who didn't worry about unexcused absences and detention and disappointed parental figures.

"Edward Cullen is staring at you again," Mike said. I was one hundred percent paying attention as soon as he said his name. "I wonder why he's sitting alone today."

My head snapped up and I quickly followed his line of sight. Edward was sitting at an empty table across the cafeteria from where he usually sat. His dimples flashed as soon as he knew I'd seen him. He raised one hand and motioned with his index finger for me to join him. As I stared, not entirely believing my own eyes, he winked.

"D-Did that actually happened?" Mike asked. There was an undercurrent of disgust in his astonishment, but I was past caring.

"Um, maybe he needs help with him Biology homework," I muttered. "I guess I should go see what he wants."

I could feel Mike staring after me as I walked away. I could also feel those ugly splotches of red start up my neck, and tried to calm myself.

When I got to his table I just stood there behind the chair across from him, awkward.

"Why don't you sit with me today?" he suggested through a wide smile.

I sat down automatically, watching his expression. Was this how the joke ended? He hadn't stopped smiling. I found that I still didn't care. Whatever got me more time this close to him.

My assumed heterosexuality was more at an impasse then ever before.

He stared back at me, still smiling. Did he want me to say something?

"This is, uh, different," I finally managed.

"Well," he said, and then paused. I could tell there was more, so I waited. The rest of it followed in a rush, the words blurring together so that it took me a minute to decipher the meaning. "I decided as long as I was going to hell, I might as well enjoy the fall."

I kept waiting, thinking he would explain, but he didn't. The silence got more uncomfortable as the seconds passed.

"You know I don't understand what you mean, right?" I asked.

"I thought you liked the mystery," he said, and then his eyes focused behind me. "Your friends are upset that I've stolen you."

Suddenly I could feel all their eyes boring into my back. For once, it didn't bother me at all.

"They'll survive."

He grinned. "I may not give you back, though."

I swallowed too loud and he laughed.

"You look worried," he said.

"No." I stopped to swallow again, hearing the edge of a break in my voice. "But surprised, yes. What's this all about?" I gestured toward him and the rest of the empty table.

"I told you—I'm tired of trying to stay away from you. So I'm giving up." The smile was fading, and his eyes were serious by the end.

"Giving up?" I repeated.

"Yes—giving up trying to be good. I'm just going to do what I want now, and let the chips fall where they may." The smile disappeared completely, and a hard edge crept into him silky voice.

"You lost me again."

It looked like he found that funny. "I always say too much when I'm talking to you—that's one of the problems."

"Don't worry—I don't understand anything you say."

"I'm counting on that."

We stared at each other for a few seconds, but the quiet wasn't awkward this time. It was more… charged. My face started to get hot again.

"So," I said, looking away so that I could catch my breath. "In plain English, are we friends now?"

"Friends…," he murmured. He sounded like it wasn't his favorite word.

"Or not," I offered.

"Well, we can try, I suppose. But I'm warning you again that I'm not a good friend for you to have." His smile was brittle now, the warning real.

"You say that a lot." Funny how my stomach was rolling. Was it because I was hungry after all? Because he was smiling at me? Or because I suddenly almost believed him? I could tell that he believed what he was saying.

"I do, because you're not listening. I'm still waiting for you to hear me. If you're smart, you'll avoid me."

Then I had to smile, and I watched as his smile automatically got bigger in response. "I thought we'd already come to the conclusion that I'm an idiot. Or absurd, or whatever."

"I did apologize—for the second one, at least. Will you forgive me for the first? I spoke without thinking."

"Yeah, of course. You don't have to apologize to me."

He sighed. "Don't I?"

I didn't know how to answer—it sounded like a rhetorical question anyway. I stared down at my hands wrapped around the lemonade bottle, not sure what to do. It was so strange to sit with him here—like normal people. I was sure only one of us was normal.

"What are you thinking?" he asked.

I looked up. He was staring again, his gold eyes curious and—like the first time I'd seen him—frustrated. Once again, my thoughts refused to pass through the appropriate filter.

"I'm wondering what you are."

"Are you having much luck with that?" His voice was casual, like he didn't really care about my answer.

My neck got hot. During the last month I'd given it some thought, but the only solutions I could come up with were completely ridiculous. Like Clark Kent and Peter Parker–level nonsense.

He tilted his head to the side, staring into my eyes as if he was trying to see through them, right into my brain. He smiled—inviting this time, impossible to resist.

"Won't you tell me?"

But I had to try to resist. He already thought I was an idiot. I shook my head. "Too embarrassing."

"That's really frustrating," he complained.

"Really?" I raised my eyebrows. "Like… someone refusing to tell you what he's thinking, even if all the while he's making cryptic little comments designed to keep you up at night wondering what he could possibly mean… Frustrating like that?"

He frowned, his lips pouting out in a distracting way. I worked to hold on to my focus.

"Or is it frustrating like, say, he's done a bunch of other strange things—for example, saving your life under impossible circumstances one day, then treating you like a pariah the next—and he never explained any of that, either, even after he promised? Frustrating like that?"

His frown twitched, then settled into a deeper scowl. "You're really not over that yet?"

"Not quite yet."

"Would another apology help?"

"An explanation would be better."

He pursed his lips, then glanced past my left arm and laughed once.

"What?"

"Your girlfriend thinks I'm being mean to you—she's debating whether or not to come break up our fight."

"I don't have a girlfriend, and you're trying to change the subject."

He ignored the second half of my statement. "You might not think of her that way, but it's how she thinks of you."

"There's no way that's true."

"It is. I told you, most people are very easy to read."

"Except me."

"Yes, except for you." His eyes shifted to me and intensified, drilling into mine. "I wonder why that is."

I had to look away. I concentrated on unscrewing the lid of my lemonade. I took a swig, staring at the table without seeing it.

"Aren't you hungry?" he asked.

His stare was less penetrating now, I saw with relief. "No." I didn't think it was necessary to mention that my stomach wasn't steady enough for food. "You?" I looked at the empty table in front of him.

"No, I'm not hungry." He smiled like I was missing some inside joke.

"Can you do me a favor?" I asked, the words escaping before I could make sure they were allowed.

He got serious quickly. "That depends on what you want."

"It's not much," I promised.

He waited, still guarded but clearly curious.

"Could you warn me beforehand? The next time you decide to ignore me? For my own good, or whatever. Just so I'm prepared." I looked at the lemonade again as I asked, tracing the lip of the opening with one finger.

"That sounds fair."

He looked like he was trying not to laugh when I glanced up.

"Thanks."

"Can I have a favor in return?" he asked.

"Sure." It was my turn to be curious. What would he want from me?

"Tell me one of your theories."

Whoops. "No way."

"You promised me a favor."

"And you've broken promises before," I reminded him.

"Just one theory—I won't laugh."

"Yes, you will." I had no doubt about that.

He looked down, then glanced up at me through his thick lashes, him long gold eyes scorching underneath.

"Please?" he breathed, leaning toward me. Without permission, my body leaned closer to him, like he was a magnet and I was a paper clip, till his face was less than a foot from mine. My mind went totally blank.

I shook my head, trying to clear it, and forced myself to sit back. "Um… what?"

"One little theory," he purred. "Please?"

"Well, er, bitten by a radioactive spider?" Was he a hypnotist, too? Or was I just a hopeless pushover?

He rolled his eyes. "That's not very creative."

"Sorry, that's all I've got."

"You're not even close."

"No spiders?"

"No spiders."

"No radioactivity?"

"None at all."

"Huh," I mumbled.

He chuckled. "Kryptonite doesn't bother me, either."

"You're not supposed to laugh, remember?"

He pressed his lips together, but his shoulders shook from holding the laughter back.

"I'll figure it out eventually," I muttered.

His humor vanished like a switch flipped off. "I wish you wouldn't try."

"How can I not wonder? I mean… you're impossible." I didn't say it like a criticism, just a statement. You are not possible. You are more than what is possible.

He understood. "But what if I'm not a superhero? What if I'm the villain?" He smiled as he said this, playfully, but his eyes were heavy with some burden I couldn't imagine.

"Oh," I said, surprised. His many hints started adding up until they finally made sense. "Oh, okay."

He waited, suddenly rigid with stress. In that second, all of his walls seemed to disappear.

"What exactly does okay mean?" he asked so quietly it was almost a whisper.

I tried to order my thoughts, but his anxiety pushed me to answer faster. I said the words without preparing them first.

"You're dangerous?" It came out like a question, and there was doubt in my voice. He was smaller than I was, no more than my age. Under normal circumstances, I would have laughed at applying the word dangerous to someone like him. But he was not normal, and there was no one like him. I remembered the first time he'd glared at me with hate in his eyes, and I'd felt genuinely afraid, though I hadn't understood that reaction in the moment, and I'd thought it foolish just seconds later. Now I understood. Under the doubt, outside the incongruity of the word dangerous applied to his slim and perfect body, I could feel the truth of the foundation. The danger was real, though my logical mind couldn't make sense of it. And he'd been trying to warn me all along.

"Dangerous," I murmured again, trying to fit the word to the person in front of me. His porcelain face was still vulnerable, without walls or secrets. His eyes were wide now, anticipating my reaction. He seemed to be bracing himself for some kind of impact. "But not the villain," I whispered. "No, I don't believe that."

"You're wrong." His voice was almost inaudible. He looked down, reaching out to steal the lid for my lemonade, which he then spun like a top between his fingers. I took advantage of his inattention to stare some more. He meant what he was saying—that was obvious. He wanted me to be afraid of him.

What I felt most was… fascinated. There were some nerves, of course, being so close to him. Fear of making a fool of myself. But all I wanted was to sit here forever, to listen to his voice and watch the expressions fly across his face, so much faster than I could analyze them. So of course that was when I noticed that the cafeteria was almost empty.

I shoved my chair away from the table, and he looked up. He seemed… sad. But resigned. Like this was the reaction he'd been waiting for.

"We're going to be late," I told him, scrambling to my feet.

He was surprised for just a second, and then the now-familiar amusement was back.

"I'm not going to class today." His fingers twirled the lid so fast that it was just a blur.

"Why not?"

He smiled up at me, but his eyes were not entirely disguised. I could still see the stress behind his façade.

"It's healthy to ditch class now and then," he said.

"Oh. Well, I guess… I should go?" Was there another option? I wasn't much for ditching, but if he asked me to…

He turned his attention back to his makeshift top. "I'll see you later, then."

That sounded like a dismissal, and I wasn't totally against being dismissed. There was so much to think about, and I didn't do my best thinking with him near. The first bell rang and I hurried to the door. I glanced back once to see that he hadn't moved at all, and the lid was still spinning in a tight circle like it would never stop.

As I half-ran to class, my head was spinning just as fast. So few questions had been answered—none, really, when I thought through it—but so many more had been raised.

I was lucky; the teacher wasn't in the room when I ran in late, face hot. Both Angela and Lauren were staring at me—Angela with surprise, almost awe, and Lauren with resentment.

Mr. Banner made his entrance then, calling the class to order while juggling a bunch of cardboard boxes in his hands. He let the boxes fall onto Lauren's table, and asked her to start passing them around the class.

"Okay, guys, I want you all to take one piece from each box," he said as he produced a pair of rubber gloves from the pocket of his lab coat and pulled them on. The crack as the gloves snapped into place was strangely ominous. "The first should be an indicator card," he went on, grabbing a white card about the size of an index card and displaying it to us; it had four squares marked on it instead of lines. "The second is a four-pronged applicator"—he held up something that looked like a nearly toothless hair pick—"and the third is a sterile micro-lancet." He displayed a small piece of blue plastic before splitting it open. The barb was invisible from this distance, but my stomach plunged.

"I'll be coming around with a dropper of water to prepare your cards, so please don't start until I get to you.…" He began at Lauren's table again, carefully putting one drop of water in each of the four squares of Lauren's card.

"Then I want you to carefully prick your finger with the lancet.…" He grabbed Lauren's hand and jabbed the spike into the tip of Lauren's middle finger.

"Ouch," Lauren complained.

Clammy moisture broke out across my forehead and my ears began a faint ringing.

"Put a small drop of blood on each of the prongs.…" Mr. Banner demonstrated as he instructed, squeezing Lauren's finger till the blood flowed. I swallowed convulsively, and my stomach heaved.

"And then apply it to the card," he finished, holding up the dripping red card for us to see. I closed my eyes, trying to hear through the humming in my ears.

"The Red Cross is having a blood drive in Port Angeles next weekend, so I thought you should all know your blood type." He sounded proud of himself. "Those of you who aren't eighteen yet will need a parent's permission—I have slips at my desk."

He continued through the room with his water dropper. I put my cheek against the cool, black tabletop and tried to hold on as everything seemed to get farther away, slithering down a dark tunnel. The squeals, complaints, and giggles as my classmates skewered their fingers all sounded far off in the distance. I breathed slowly in and out through my mouth.

"Bran, are you all right?" Mr. Banner asked. His voice was close to my head, but still far away, and it sounded alarmed.

"I already know my blood type, Mr. Banner. I'm O negative."

I couldn't open my eyes.

"Are you feeling faint?"

"Yes, sir," I muttered, wishing I could kick myself for not ditching when I had the chance.

"Can someone walk Bran to the nurse, please?" he called.

"I will." Even though it was far away, I recognized Lauren's voice.

"Can you walk?" Mr. Banner asked me.

"Yes," I whispered. \Just let me get out of here, I thought. I'll crawl.

I felt Lauren grab my hand—I was sure it was all sweaty and gross but I couldn't care about that yet—and I worked to get my eyes open while she tugged me up. I just had to get out of this room before it went full dark. I stumbled toward the door while Lauren put her arm around my waist, trying to steady me. I put my arm over her shoulders, but she was too short to help my balance much. I tried to carry my own weight as much as possible.

Lauren and I lumbered slowly across campus. When we were around the edge of the cafeteria, out of sight of building four in case Mr. Banner was watching, I stopped fighting.

"Just let me sit for a minute, please?" I asked.

Lauren breathed out a sigh of relief as I settled clumsily on the edge of the walk.

"And whatever you do, keep your hand in your pocket," I said. Everything seemed to be swirling dizzily, even when I closed my eyes. I slumped over to one side, putting my cheek against the freezing, damp cement of the sidewalk. That helped.

"Wow, you're green, Bran," Lauren said nervously.

"Just gimme… a minute…"

"Bran?" a different voice called from the distance.

Oh, please no. Not this, too. Let me just be imagining that horribly familiar voice.

"What's wrong? Is he hurt?" The voice was closer now, and it sounded strangely fierce. I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping to die. Or, at the very least, not to throw up.

Lauren sounded stressed. "I think he fainted. I don't know what happened, he didn't even stick his finger."

"Bran, can you hear me?" Edward's voice was right by my head now, and he sounded relieved.

"No," I groaned.

He laughed.

"I was trying to help him to the nurse," Lauren explained, defensive. "But he wouldn't go any farther."

"I'll take him," Edward said, the smile still in his voice. "You can go back to class."

"What? No, I'm supposed to…"

And then a strong arm was under both of mine, and I was on my feet without realizing how I got there. The strong arm, cold like the sidewalk, held me tight against a slim body, almost like a crutch. My eyes flipped open in surprise, but all I could see was his messy bronze hair against my chest. He started moving forward, and my feet fumbled trying to catch up. I expected to fall, but he somehow kept me upright. He didn't so much as stagger when my full weight tugged us both forward.

Then again, I didn't weigh as much as a van.

"I'm good, I swear," I mumbled. Please, please let me not vomit on him.

"Hey," Lauren called after us, already ten paces behind.

Edward ignored her. "You look simply awful," he told me. I could hear the grin.

"Just put me back on the sidewalk," I groaned. "I'll be fine in a few minutes."

He propelled us quickly forward while I tried to make my feet move in the right pattern to match his speed. A few times I could swear that my feet were actually dragging across the ground, but then, I couldn't feel them very well, so I wasn't sure.

"So you faint at the sight of blood?" he asked. Apparently, this was hilarious.

I didn't answer. I closed my eyes again and fought the nausea, lips clamped together. The most important thing was that I not vomit on him. I could survive everything else.

"And not even your own blood!" He laughed. It was like the sound of a bell ringing.

"I have a weak vasovagal system," I muttered. "It's just a neurally mediated syncope."

He laughed again. Apparently, the big words I'd memorized to explain these situations did not impress him the way they were supposed to.

I wasn't sure how he got the door open while dragging me, but suddenly it was warm—everywhere except where his body pressed against me. I wished I felt normal so that I could appreciate that more—his body touching mine. I knew that under normal circumstances I would be enjoying this.

"Oh my," a female voice gasped.

"He's having a neurally mediated syncope," Edward explained brightly.

I opened my eyes. I was in the office, and Edward was dragging me past the front counter toward the door at the back of the room. Mrs. Cope, the receptionist, ran ahead of him to hold it open. He faltered when he heard the dire-sounding diagnosis.

"Should I call nine-one-one?" she gasped.

"It's just a fainting spell," I mumbled.

A grandfatherly old man—the school medic—looked up from a novel, shocked, as Edward hauled me into the room. Did he notice that when he leaned me against the cot, he half-lifted me into place? The crackly paper complained as he pushed me down with one hand against my chest, then turned and swung my feet up onto the vinyl mattress.

This reminded me of the time he'd swung my feet out of the way of the van, and the memory made me dizzy.

"They're blood typing in Biology," Edward explained to the nurse.

I watched the old man nod sagely. "There's always one."

Edward covered his mouth and pretended his laugh was a cough. He'd gone to stand across the room from me. His eyes were bright, excited.

"Just lie down for a minute, son," the old nurse told me. "It'll pass."

"I know," I muttered. In fact, the dizziness was already beginning to fade. Soon the tunnel would shorten and things would sound normal again.

"Does this happen a lot?" he asked.

I sighed. "I have a weak vasovagal system."

The nurse looked confused.

"Sometimes," I told him.

Edward laughed again, not bothering to disguise it.

"You can go back to class now," the nurse said to him.

"I'm supposed to stay with him," Edward answered. He said it with such confidence that—even though he pursed his lips—the nurse didn't argue it further.

"I'll get you some ice for your head," he said to me, and then he shuffled out of the room.

I let my eyelids fall shut again. "You were right."

"I usually am—but about what in particular this time?"

"Ditching is healthy." I worked to breathe in and out evenly.

"You scared me for a minute there," he admitted after a pause. The way he said it made it sound like he was confessing a weakness, something to be ashamed of. "I thought that Lauren girl had poisoned you."

"Hilarious." I still had my eyes shut, but I was feeling more normal every minute.

"Honestly," he said, "I've seen corpses with better color. I was concerned that I might have to avenge your death."

"I bet Lauren's annoyed."

"She absolutely loathes me," Edward said cheerfully.

"You don't know that," I countered, but then I wondered.…

"You should have seen her face. It was obvious."

"How did you even see us? I thought you were ditching."

I was pretty much fine now, though the queasiness would probably have passed faster if I'd eaten something for lunch. On the other hand, maybe it was lucky my stomach was empty.

"I was in my car, listening to a CD." Such a normal response—it surprised me.

I heard the door and opened my eyes to see the nurse with a cold compress in his hand.

"Here you go, son." He laid it across my forehead. "You're looking better," he added.

"I think I'm okay," I said, sitting up. Just a little ringing in my ears, no spinning. The mint green walls stayed where they should.

I could tell he was about to make me lie back down, but the door opened just then, and Mrs. Cope stuck her head in.

"We've got another one," she warned.

I lurched off the cot to make room for the next victim and handed the compress back to the nurse. "Here, I don't need this."

And then Lauren staggered through the door, now supporting Martha Sean, another girl in our Biology class. She was currently sallow green. Edward and I drew back against the wall to give them room.

"Oh no," Edward murmured. "Go out to the office, Bran."

I looked down at him, confused.

"Trust me—go."

I spun and caught the door before it closed, floundering out of the infirmary. I could feel Edward right behind me.

"You actually listened to me," he said, surprised.

"I smelled the blood." Martha wasn't sick from just watching other people. Much less embarrassing, I thought.

"People can't smell blood," Edward contradicted.

"I can—that's what makes me sick. It smells like rust… and salt."

He was staring at me with a wary expression.

"What?" I asked.

"It's nothing."

Lauren came through the door then, glancing from Edward to me and back again.

"Thanks so much for your help, Edward," she said, her sickly sweet tone a pretty good indication that Edward was right about the loathing thing. "I don't know what Bran here would have done without you."

"Don't mention it," Edward replied with an amused smile.

"You look better," Lauren said to me in the same tone. "I'm so glad."

"Just keep your hand in your pocket," I cautioned her again.

"It's not bleeding anymore," she told me, her voice going back to normal. "Are you coming to class?"

"No thanks. I'd just have to turn around and come back."

"Yeah, I guess.… So are you going this weekend? To the beach?" While she spoke, she flashed a dark look toward Edward, who was standing against the cluttered counter, motionless as a sculpture, staring off into space.

"Umm, I can't go. I have some personal affair to look into."

From the looks of it, Lauren was about to either blow an artery or put me under a chock hold.

But she surprised me with a quick 'Okay', although it was more of a hiss, with a death glare toward Edward.

"And now you have ensured a murder." Edward said playfully, although I could sense something else there.

I felt a shiver of fear, for Lauren.

In no time we were at the parking lot, so I angled toward my truck. Something caught my jacket and yanked me back half a step.

"Where are you going?" he asked, surprised. His hand had a fistful of my jacket. He didn't look like he'd even planted his feet. For a second I couldn't answer. He denied being a superhero, but my mind couldn't seem to frame it another way. It was like Superman had left his cape at home.

I wondered if it was supposed to bother me that he was so much stronger than I was, but I hadn't been insecure about things like that for a long time. Ever since I'd outgrown my bullies, I'd been fairly well satisfied. Sure, I'd like to be coordinated, but it didn't bother me that I wasn't good at sports. I didn't have time for them anyway, and they'd always seemed a little childish. Why get so worked up about a bunch of people chasing a ball around? I was strong enough that I could make people leave me alone, and that was all I wanted.

"Bran?" he asked, and I realized I hadn't answered his question.

"Uh, what?"

"I asked where you were going."

"Home. Or am I not?" His expression confused me.

He smiled. "Didn't you hear me promise to take you safely home? Do you think I'm going to let you drive in your condition?"

"What condition?"

"I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you have a weak vasovagal system."

"I think I'll survive," I said. I tried to take another step toward my truck, but his hand didn't free my jacket.

I stopped and looked down at him again. "Okay, why don't you tell me what you want me to do?"

His smile got wider. "Very sensible. You're going to get into my car, and I am going to drive you home."

"I have two issues with that. One, it's not necessary, and two, what about my truck?"

"One, necessary is a subjective word, and two, I'll have Jasper drop it off after school."

I was distracted by the casual reminder that he had siblings—strange, pale, beautiful siblings. Special siblings? Special like him?

"Are you going to put up a fuss?" he asked when I didn't speak.

"Is there any point in resisting?"

I tried to decipher all the layers to his smile, but I didn't get very far. "It warms my cold heart to see you learning so quickly. This way."

He dropped his fistful of jacket and turned. I followed him willingly. The smooth roll of his hips was just as hypnotic as his eyes. And there wasn't a downside to getting more time with him.

The inside of the Volvo was just as pristine as the outside. Instead of the smell of gasoline and tobacco, there was just a faint perfume. It was almost familiar, but I couldn't put my finger on it. Whatever it was, it smelled amazing.

As the engine purred quietly to life, he played with a few dials, turning the heat on and the music down.

"Is that 'Clair de Lune'?" I asked.

He glanced at me, surprised. "You're a fan of Debussy?"

I shrugged. "My mom plays a lot of classical stuff around the house. I only know my favorites."

"It's one of my favorites, too."

"Well, imagine that," I said. "We have something in common."

I expected him to laugh, but he only stared out through the rain.

I relaxed against the light gray seat, responding automatically to the familiar melody. Because I was mostly watching him from the corner of my eye, the rain blurred everything outside the window into gray and green smudges. It took me a minute to realize we were driving very fast; the car moved so smoothly I didn't feel the speed. Only the town flashing by gave it away.

"What's your mother like?" he asked suddenly.

His butterscotch eyes studied me curiously while I answered.

"She kind of looks like my sister—same eyes, same color hair—but she's tall. She's an extrovert, and pretty brave. She's also slightly eccentric, a little irresponsible, and a very unpredictable cook." I stopped. It made me depressed to talk about her in the past tense.

"How old are you, Bran?" His voice sounded frustrated for some reason I couldn't imagine.

The car stopped, and I realized we were at Charlie's house already. The rain had really picked up, so heavy now that I could barely see the house. It was like the car was submerged in a vertical river.

"I'm seventeen," I said, a little confused by his tone.

"You don't seem seventeen," he said—it was like an accusation.

I laughed.

"What?" he demanded.

"My mom always says I was born thirty-five years old and that I get more middle-aged every year." I laughed again, and then sighed. "Well, someone has to be the adult." I paused for a second. "You don't seem much like a junior in high school, either."

He made a face and changed the subject.

"Why did your mother marry Phil?"

I was surprised that he remembered Phil's name; I was sure I'd only said it once, almost two months ago. It took me a second to answer.

"My mom… she's very young for her age. I think Phil makes her feel even younger. Anyway, she's crazy about him." Personally I didn't see it, but did anyone ever think anyone was good enough for his mom?

"Do you approve?" he asked.

I shrugged. "I want her to be happy, and he's who she wants."

"That's very generous.… I wonder…"

"What?"

"Would she extend the same courtesy to you, do you think? No matter who your choice was?" His eyes were suddenly intent, searching mine.

"I—I think so," I stuttered. "But she's the adult—on paper at least. It's a little different."

His face relaxed. "No one too scary, then," he teased.

I grinned back. "What do you mean by scary? Tattoos and facial piercings?"

"That's one definition, I suppose."

"What's your definition?"

He ignored me and asked another question. "Do you think I could be scary?" He raised one eyebrow.

I pretended to examine him face for a minute, just as an excuse to stare at him, my favorite thing to do.

His features were so delicate, so symmetrical. His face would stop anyone in his tracks, but it wouldn't make him run in the other direction. The opposite.

"It's kind of hard to imagine that," I admitted.

He frowned to himself.

"But, I mean, I'm sure you could be, if you wanted to."

He tilted his head and gave me an exasperated smile, but didn't say anything else.

"So are you going to tell me about your family?" I asked. "It's got to be a much more interesting story than mine."

He was instantly cautious. "What do you want to know?"

"The Cullens adopted you?"

"Yes."

I hesitated for a minute. "What happened to your parents?"

"They died many years ago." His tone was matter-of-fact.

"I'm sorry."

"I don't really remember them clearly. Carlisle and Esme have been my parents for a long time now."

"And you love them." It wasn't a question. It was obvious in the way he said their names.

"Yes." He smiled. "I can't imagine two better people."

"Then you're very lucky."

"I know it."

"And your brother and sister?"

He glanced at the clock on the dashboard.

"My brother and sister, and Jas and Rose for that matter, are going to be quite upset if they have to stand in the rain waiting for me."

"Oh, sorry, I guess you have to go."

It was stupid, but I didn't want to get out of the car.

"And you probably want your truck back before Chief Swan gets home and you have to explain about the syncopal episode."

He was good with the medical jargon, but then, his father was a doctor.

"I'm sure he's already heard. There are no secrets in Forks," I grumbled.

Apparently I'd said something funny, but I couldn't guess what it was, or why there was an edge to his laughter.

"Will I see you tomorrow?"

"No. Emmett and I are starting the weekend early."

"What are you going to do?" A friend could ask that, right? I hoped he couldn't hear the disappointment in my voice.

"We'll be hiking the Goat Rocks Wilderness, just south of Rainier."

"Oh, sounds fun."

He smiled. "Will you do something for me this weekend?" He turned to look me straight in the eyes, his own burning in their hypnotic way.

I nodded, helpless. Anything, I could have said, and it would have been true.

"Don't be offended, but you seem to be one of those people who just attract accidents like a magnet. Try not to fall into the ocean or get run over by anything, all right?"

He flashed his dimples at me, which took away some of the sting of being called incompetent.

"I'll see what I can do," I promised.

I jumped out into the vertical river and ran for the porch. By the time I turned around, the Volvo had disappeared.

"Oh!" I clutched at my jacket pocket, remembering that I'd forgotten to give him my key.

The pocket was empty.

I was still buzzed and dazed when I entered my room to find Alice on the bed.

"Listen Al-"

"I know. I know what they are."

* * *

 **There. I wanted to skip the in between chapters but then I was able to steal some leisure time today. I hope you enjoy this. NOW, the dynamics between Bran and Edward is going to escalate. Bran/Ed would have to face their demon before they get 'the happy ending'**

 **Up next: Dinner with Vampires.**


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